Prisoners and Captives
by Expecting Rain
Summary: A plan goes wrong during the search for the Horcruxes and Hermione is made a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. She's going to need all her intelligence, courage, loyalty, and cunning to keep herself - and the fight against Voldemort - alive.
1. Destination, Determination, Deliberation

_A/N:__ So, I had typed up a LONG author's note – a whole page – of explanations and background information for this story. But you really don't need to know all that – that was mostly me babbling, because I babble when I'm nervous and I'm nervous about posting this. This is the longest fanfiction I've ever written (it's not finished yet, but I'm about halfway there and the rest is outlined) and I've put more work into this than any of my other fics. So, you guessed it, that means I really want reviews! There are just a few more things you need to know before you start, but I'll try to keep things short:_

_This story is AU; however, it is HBP-compliant and parallels much of DH. _

_There will be swearing, torture, character deaths, and mature subject matter. Nothing explicit, but if the content bothers you, turn back now. _

_I'm not British. I'll attempt to use British English vocabulary (ex: queue vs. line) but I'm sticking to American English spelling (ex: color vs. colour). However, I'd appreciate it if readers would point out any accidental Americanisms that sneak in._

_I don't own Harry Potter and am making no money from this whatsoever. _

_Okay, that was still a little long, but you should have seen what I had written before! Time to stop stalling. Here we go:_

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter One: Destination, Determination, Deliberation**

Hermione Granger had never quite gotten used to wearing somebody else's body. Under Polyjuice, she became clumsy and awkward; she misjudged distances and her own reaction time; she displayed her emotions dangerously in the unfamiliar curves of a borrowed face. The world was different when seen through somebody else's eyes; strange, alien. She never quite trusted herself when she was under Polyjuice.

When the queue shuffled forward, Hermione stumbled over her too-large feet and nearly fell into the middle-aged man in front of her. "Sorry," she muttered in an unfamiliar smoker's rasp, and felt blood rush to her too-fair cheeks.

The man eyed her distastefully, and Hermione turned away to look out the humongous windows at the airplanes waiting below. She put a too-large hand in her jacket pocket, touching the stolen wallet and reminding herself of the plan: get in, buy three airline tickets to Albania, get out. It should take no time at all.

She hadn't figured the abnormal length of the queue into her plans. Hermione glanced at the digital clock suspended off a nearby wall: 4:37. She had less than half an hour before the Polyjuice Potion wore off. She had another dose in a water bottle in her purse, but she knew that in the process of rummaging around for it she would inevitably drop something and draw unwanted attention to herself. She would wait another twenty minutes.

The line shuffled forward again, and Hermione's too-long legs took her farther than she'd intended. The man in front of her inched forward, glancing over his shoulder with a look that bordered on loathing.

Nervously, Hermione let her gaze wander away from her irritated neighbor to scan over the numerous security guards. The recent attacks on Muggles had been interpreted as terrorism, and the government had responded by increasing the security everywhere they could. Hermione sighed inwardly. As if policemen and firefighters could do anything against Dementors and Inferi.

As the queue shuffled forward, another security officer approached. He stood near the front of the queue for a moment, one hand in his pocket, his eyes scanning the room. His gaze stopped to rest on Hermione. She looked away quickly, but she could still feel his eyes on her. She reached inside her pocket, touched the wallet, let her arm brush against her side so she could feel the reassurance of her wand stowed in her sleeve.

He was still looking.

Hermione forced herself not to fidget, to appear normal. But it didn't work. Out of her periphery she could see him walking toward her – was it toward her? – he was drawing near the queue, near her section – he was right in front of her – he stopped, looked straight at her.

"Excuse me, ma'am." His voice was rough and almost angry, despite the politeness of his words. "You've been randomly selected. If you'll come with me, it's a simple security routine."

The moment seemed to freeze as Hermione considered her options: Run. Disapparate. Curse him.

Or go along with it and hope that it really was a routine security measure.

She tensed her arm. Her wand was still there.

"Oh, bother," she said, doing her best to sound merely annoyed and not completely terrified. She stepped out of the line. "Do I at least get to jump the queue once you're finished?"

"Of course," the man said disinterestedly. "Follow me."

Again, Hermione weighed her options. If this was a trap, if he had somehow recognized her, she could always Disapparate. But much as she wanted to, she couldn't leave yet. If she Disapparated, she would draw unwanted attention to Muggle means of transportation, and within the week, airports and train stations would be swarming with Death Eaters looking for Muggle-borns and half-bloods fleeing the country. If she left before she had to, blood was on her hands. And, maybe more importantly, any Horcrux in Albania would remain there.

Hermione stepped out of line ("Thank God," the man in front of her mumbled) and followed the security guard, trying to keep herself calm by concentrating on not tripping over her own feet. It didn't particularly help, especially when the man stopped before a door marked _STAFF ONLY. DO NOT ENTER. _and knocked twice.

The door opened. As quickly as she could, Hermione turned on her heel, visualizing the forest and pushing away the harsh, bright reality of the airport. She felt the familiar pressing darkness, and then – it stopped. She felt herself being pulled back to the bright lights and white walls.

Wards.

Panicked, she pressed harder, concentrating, trying to break through, to escape – she pictured the tent, she pictured Ron's face, Harry's – she pictured a hoop – _destination, determination, deliberation -_

The wards broke. Stumbling from the effort, she lost her balance and fell to her hands and knees on the cold linoleum floor.

Linoleum. Fighting the urge to cry, Hermione looked up. She hadn't broken the wards, she hadn't left the airport, and now they knew she was a witch.

Hands reached out and yanked her up and into the room. The door slammed shut behind her and clicked as it was charmed shut.

"_Expelliarmus."_ Hermione's wand flew out of her sleeve before she thought to draw it. Some Gryffindor she was. _"Accio." _Her purse, with its damning bottle of Polyjuice Potion.

"That was stupid." Some Ravenclaw, too.

Mentally shaking her head, Hermione pushed it all – despair, fear, panic – away. She could do this. She could think on her feet, keep her cover, get out of here in half an hour. She had to. If she didn't – well, she wouldn't think about that.

_Look around. Assess your situation. Don't drop your guard. Constant vigilance. _Hermione shifted into battle mode, every sense on the alert, waiting and searching for an opportunity to get out of here.

They moved back a little, filling out the small grey room – probably used for storage, once – and Hermione studied them. They were four men, two of whom she recognized – Theodore Nott, a would-be Slytherin seventh year – he was here, so he had probably dropped out – and his father, a Death Eater during the first war. There were stories about what he had done to Muggles…

_Separate. Objectivity. _Nott Sr. was probably checking up on his son, he was too senior to be assigned here – apprehending Muggle-borns was far too mundane a task for him, especially as the Muggle-borns would likely be traveling in families and not expecting Death Eaters – _Potterwatch _had been recommending Muggle transportation for weeks now, and in such heavily loaded terms that even Ron could catch the hint. Too heavily loaded, apparently, if Death Eaters were here. She would have to find a way to contact the Order….

"A Probity Probe told us of your wand. We know you're a witch. State your name and blood purity," said one of the Death Eaters she didn't recognize, a short pale man with greasy brown hair.

"H-Helen Macmillan," she said, the raspy voice rising an octave. "Pureblood."

"Macmillan?" said Nott Sr. sharply. "Any relation to Ernie Macmillan?"

"A – a third cousin, or something. I met him once, maybe five years ago." She didn't know whether she should be worried or proud that Ernie had caused enough trouble at Hogwarts to stain his family name.

"Destination?" the first Death Eater asked.

"Al – Alsace," Hermione answered, catching herself. Why this stubborn inclination to tell the truth? "To visit a friend."

"Her name?"

"Gi – Jeanne Delacour."

"Any relation to Fleur Delacour?" asked Nott Sr. Did they know the entire Order, then, as well as the entire DA?

"No, Dela_couer_, not Dela_cour_," she said, stressing the difference in pronunciation. Nott Sr. looked skeptical but made no comment.

Another Death Eater, a pudgy, balding man who looked to be around forty, looked to Nott Sr. before saying to Hermione, "Go to the next room, then, and after an hour you can go back to the queue." He waved his wand and an open door appeared in the far wall.

Not seeing any other option, Hermione walked through the door to await her doom.

The room was not empty. A short blond boy about her own age, and an even shorter, older blond woman were standing together in a corner, their heads close together, whispering. They both looked up as Hermione entered the room, and Hermione recognized the boy as a Hufflepuff a year below her; she was fairly sure his surname was Summerby. The woman looked so like him that she must be his mother.

Both Summerbys looked her over and turned back to each other, effectively cold-shouldering Hermione. They were making it plain which side they were on by showing disdain to her unproven blood status – but the fact that they were here showed that they were not allied with Death Eaters in any real way.

Hermione leaned against the cold cement wall, fighting back the rising panic and trying to focus, to think of a means, any means of escape. She had about twenty minutes if they didn't go through her purse and find the Polyjuice. At least she hadn't taken her Charmed purse, so apart from the Polyjuice it held nothing condemning. So there was that, at least, though it wasn't much.

To her horror, Hermione felt hot tears well up in her eyes. This body apparently had less self-control than hers did.

_Objectively, Hermione. Objectively_. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. She thought of weighing her options, but at present she had no options to be weighed. She would be discovered, and she would be tortured, and she would be interrogated, and she would be killed, and others would be killed because of what she would tell. She would not be able to keep her secrets to herself: even if she could withstand torture, there were Legilimancy and Veritaserum and the Imperius Curse to contend with.

They would find out everything – where Harry and Ron were, what they were doing – that they knew about the Horcruxes, about the Hallows (if there were Hallows) – their small advantage would be lost. Voldemort would win. There would be a reign of terror, mass killings of Muggle-borns, Hogwarts would be made a school for the Dark Arts –

_Stop it! Don't panic. Think objectively._

They couldn't find out what she knew. So – _objectively, Hermione, objectively!_ – she had four options: To escape before she was interrogated. To somehow get someone to Obliviate her. To die before she was interrogated. Or to get them to torture her into insanity.

Hermione took another deep, shuddering breath. The prison of Nurmengard, Dumbledore's letters in Rita Skeeter: _for the greater good. _She could do this, she had to – the consequences, should she fail, were too great. She would take whichever option came first.

She just hoped it wasn't the last.

Usually, when Hermione had a plan, she would ruminate over it, perfecting every last detail until she was completely sure it would work. She couldn't bear to do that now, so instead she began to mentally run through every Jinx and Curse she knew. Alphabetically.

She was at _Defodio_ when the door opened and Nott Jr. stepped in.

"You two, you can go," he said authoritatively, nodding at the Summerbys. "Here - "

Hermione had never had particularly good hand-eye coordination, which was why she was rubbish at Quidditch, but in spite of that, and in spite of the Polyjuice-induced clumsiness, Hermione lunged forward and caught a wand as Nott tossed them both to their owners.

She hit the ground and cast a shield simultaneously, deflecting numerous curses - the other Death Eaters had noticed what was happening – but if she could just keep the shield, she had a chance.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Petrificus Totalis!"_

"_Sectumsemptra!"_

"_Crucio!"_

_Sheild Charms don't block Unforgivables,_ Hermione remembered a split second before the red jet of light touched her blue shield. And then the curse hit.

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	2. Malfoy Manor

**A/N:**_ I should warn you, this chapter is one of the more disturbing and graphic chapters, at least for quite a while. I don't think it's too bad, but this chapter earns the T rating. _

**Last chapter:**

_Sheild Charms don't block Unforgivables,_ Hermione remembered a split second before the red jet of light touched her blue shield. And then the curse hit.

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**A Matter of Priorities**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Two: Malfoy Manor**

Pain. Pain and nothing else. All-encompassing, all-consuming. She barely noticed her own screams.

And then it stopped.

Someone said something – she didn't catch what – and silver threads wound themselves tightly around her. She didn't fight it, she couldn't; she was lying face-down against the floor, shaking and gasping and trying hard not to cry. As she watched, Nott Jr. knelt next to her and picked the wand up off the floor. Her chance was gone. She was caught.

"Idiot," Nott Sr. said derisively, nudging her with his foot. Hermione didn't look up. She was still waiting for the world to come back into focus. "What were you trying to do?"

Hermione said nothing, still staring at the ground. She was still shaking, though whether from the Cruciatus or from common fear she didn't know.

"What were you trying to do?" Nott repeated more harshly. Hermione didn't answer. _"Cru - "_

"L-leave!" Hermione gasped, trying vainly to remember her ruse.

"Are you telling us to - " started the fat Death Eater, raising his wand.

"No!" Hermione interrupted, panicking. "I w-was trying to l-leave." Her voice shook terribly, as if she were sobbing.

"Why?" demanded Nott Jr.

Hermione looked up, terrified, unable to think of a good enough lie. Nott Sr.'s eyebrows narrowed. _"Cru - "_

"Look!" shouted the dark-haired Death Eater. "Look at her hair!"

Grimacing, Hermione looked back at the floor. This was it, then. There was the familiar but still unpleasant melting sensation as her body shrank and remolded itself into an easily recognizable Hermione Granger.

She couldn't hide her face for long: someone cast a Hover Charm and Hermione was pulled up to dangle a few inches from the ground. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope….

"Granger!" the younger Nott yelped. "It's Granger, Potter's Mudblood friend!"

"Are you sure?" Nott Sr. asked, his eyes narrowing. He moved closer to Hermione, so close she could feel his breath against her face. She tried to pull away but the spell prevented it.

"I'm sure," Nott Jr. said, so excited he was almost breathless. "She's in my year, I've had classes with her for six years. And you've seen the posters, you know it's her."

"Check the wand," suggested the dark-haired Death Eater.

Nott Sr. pulled it out of his pocket and held it close to his nose. "Vine wood, ten and three-quarters inches, flexible – this is it. Granger." With a hideous leer at Hermione, he pushed up the sleeve of his robe and pressed a finger against the skull-and-snake tattoo. He closed his eyes for a moment, communicating the information to someone – _Not Voldemort, please not Voldemort – _then his eyelids flew open and he grabbed Hermione's arm.

"I'm taking her to headquarters," he said authoritatively. "Selwyn, Portkey."

The dark-haired Death Eater reached into his robes and withdrew a long white quill – no, not a quill: the tip wasn't sharpened. It was simply a feather.

Nott took the feather and held it against Hermione's arm.

"One…two….three," he counted, Hermione felt a tug behind her navel and she was spinning off to some unknown hell.

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Hermione had mastered Portkey travel three years ago, but now she landed face-first on a hard wooden floor. She looked up through her eyelashes, careful to keep hiding her face. She could see two pairs of dragonhide boots, a woman's high heels, and a pair of dirty bare feet, all nearly concealed by long black robes. If this was Headquarters, whose feet were these? She didn't dare look up to find out.

"It's Granger," Nott said.

"Really," drawled a cold voice. It sounded familiar, but somehow off….it took a few seconds, but then Hermione placed it: Lucius Malfoy. She shivered involuntarily. If Malfoy was one of her captors, things didn't look good.

Nobody spoke a word, but Hermione suddenly flew up off the floor, banged her head on the rather high ceiling, and fell back to hover a few inches above the floor, head aching and eyes streaming.

Through her tears, Hermione could see four indistinct black-robed figures. Even with her vision blurred, Hermione recognized a slim, pale, blond family of three and a tall woman with wild black hair. _Oh no, oh no – _Hermione blinked. It was her. Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Well, Draco – is it?" Bellatrix asked, almost hungrily.

Hermione's glance flicked over to the youngest Death Eater. Draco Malfoy looked even paler than usual and seemed almost scared - he was wearing his requisite sneer, but it was unconvincing, even to Hermione. It seemed that the life of a Death Eater did not suit Draco Malfoy.

But Draco looked the picture of health next to his father. Lucius's normally pearlescent skin was as sallow as Snape's, and in his eyes was a haunted look that she recognized from Sirius's worse moments. The war had taken its toll on Narcissa, too. She was paler and thinner than ever, and at the sound of Bellatrix's voice she had made a convulsive movement towards Draco, as if seeking to protect him. It made Hermione feel almost sorry for her.

At a harsh look from his father, Malfoy – no, Draco, she would need to keep them straight, even if it meant being mentally on first name terms with Death Eaters – Draco took a few steps forwards until he was almost nose-to-nose with Hermione, the Hover Charm lifting her up almost to his height. She stared at him, unable to hide her desperation. _Please, tell them no, say you don't know me, please, _she thought.

Draco looked surprised for a moment, but quickly hid it and turned back to face his family.

"It's her," he said flatly.

"Are you sure?" Narcissa asked nervously. "The Dark Lord – if we are mistaken - "

"Mother, it's her," Draco said, somewhat impatiently. "I've known her since I was eleven."

"Theodore identified her too," Nott added. He sounded as if he were sucking up – there was no other term for it. "And her wand matches the description."

"Give it to me," ordered Lucius. Nott placed it in Lucius's outstretched palm, and Lucius tucked it into a pocket of his robes. Hermione followed his movements carefully, memorizing the location of her wand. If she had the chance to get it back, she would take it.

"You are absolutely sure, Draco?" Narcissa repeated.

"Yes," Draco said, almost whining. Lucius glared, and Draco flushed and looked away.

"I will do it," Lucius said, and by Bellatrix's incensed look Hermione knew what he meant: he was going to tell Voldemort. Voldemort wasn't _here, _was he? Harry had said he was in Europe, but that was weeks ago. If he was here, if he wanted to see her – Hermione shuddered and the silver ropes cut deeper into her skin.

"Bellatrix," said Lucius. "Take care of the Mudblood."

Hermione tried to force her analytical side to take over, to notice Draco's and Narcissa's reactions to Lucius's words, to try to see in which direction Lucius turned after he left the room, to infer that the phrase "take care of" meant that Voldemort would not be coming to see her anytime soon – but she was so terrified by Bellatrix's slow smile that it was all she could do to keep breathing.

Bellatrix flicked her wand. Hermione flinched, expecting the Cruciatus, but instead a black cloth appeared in front of her face and tied itself around her eyes, blinding her. "Come on, widdle Mudblood," Bellatrix cooed. "Let's have some fun." Hermione felt herself propelled magically forward, her feet still dangling inches from the floor.

Bellatrix was either very smart or very paranoid: she led Hermione all over the house, up and down several flights of stairs and back and forth through countless hallways before opening a door and canceling the charm, so that Hermione, still bound and blindfolded, fell helplessly to the ground.

"_Crucio,"_ Bellatrix purred, and in the split second before the curse hit, Hermione thought of the Longbottoms and of Sirius and then there was only pain, and screaming, and laughter, and then the slam of a door and aching and silence.

It took ages for the trembling to lessen, for the dizziness to fade, but when it finally did Hermione became aware of just how uncomfortable she was. Still blindfolded, still bound, crumpled in a heap on the hard, cold floor, shaking in the aftermath of the Cruciatus, Hermione didn't know if she'd ever been more uncomfortable. She almost wished that someone would come untie her, but considering where she was, she decided she'd rather remain uncomfortable forever.

Panic pressed against her at the thought, but Hermione pushed it away, instead thinking back to the labyrinthine journey to the room. She was one flight of stairs higher than where she had been Portkeyed to: she thought there had been a flight up and two down, and then three up and one down, but it was hard to know for sure, especially with her mind and body still reeling from the Cruciatus. If she had to go through any more of those –

A click as the door was unlocked. Footsteps, heavier than Bellatrix's had been. _"Finite Incantatem."_ That voice. She knew, even before the blindfold vanished, that it was Lucius Malfoy.

"Where is Potter?" he demanded, his wand pointed at her. Hermione simply looked at him, trying not to seem as terrified as she actually was. She tried to push herself up but her shaking wrist slipped and she fell back to the floor.

Exhaling harshly, Lucius flicked his wand and Hermione was lifted backwards off the floor and placed, sitting, on a bed.

"Where is Potter?" he repeated. Hermione did her best to glare, her lips pressed together in a pathetic imitation of Professor McGonagall.

"Won't tell?" Lucius asked, in a voice quite apart from his usual cool, calm tone. He sounded angry, almost desperate. "Think you can keep your dirty Mudblood mouth shut? _Cr - "_

Hermione flinched, and miraculously, he stopped. "I see Bellatrix has welcomed you already," he said stiltedly. "Perhaps I'd best wait, then – we don't want you to lose your mind before we've picked it clean."

His pale eyes met hers and Hermione looked away, fearing Legilimency. She had tried to learn Occlumency from books the summer after fifth year, but she'd never been tested and she'd rather not find out this way if she'd learned properly. The stakes were too high.

"Clever, Mudblood," Lucius said in a harsh whisper. "But intelligence won't help you here. You are helpless. Your every action, every thought is under our control. You do, you say, you think whatever we want you to. Now, tell me: where is Potter?"

"You can't make me do anything," Hermione said, trying to affect bravery. Her voice shook slightly, but she sat up straight and turned to face him, though she still avoided meeting his eyes directly.

"Can't I?" asked Lucius. There was something about his eyes, his mouth that looked dangerous. _"Imperio!"_

She remembered the feeling all too well: the blankness, the disassociation, the feeling of helplessness as her body did whatever Moody told it to. _Hop around the room three times. Do a somersault down the aisle. Stand on your head._

_Take off your shirt._

_No. No! NO! _Hermione tried to think, but her hands weren't obeying, they were grasping the bottom of her too-large T-shirt and lifting. _Stop it. I don't want to do this, I can't, I won't – _

Her hands faltered, but not enough. The shirt was off. She shivered in the cold air as her arms fell back to her sides, waiting to betray her at the next command.

Lucius stared at her, carefully but disinterestedly, almost scientifically really, his eyes touching every inch of Hermione's exposed skin. She fought, panicky, against the blankness but to no avail.

Lucius opened his mouth, and Hermione tensed, expecting another, a worse, command.

"Where is Potter?" he said, at the same moment ending the curse. Hermione picked up her shirt and clutched it against herself, not wanting to take the time to pull it over her head.

"Tell me, Mudblood - where is Potter?" Lucius repeated, almost shouting.

"I won't," Hermione squeaked, shaking uncontrollably. Lucius raised his wand, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself. Nothing happened. Hermione opened her eyes. Lucius was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. He lowered his wand.

"Lucky for you, I don't like filthy Mudbloods," he sneered, and then turned and left the room. The door clicked as it locked itself behind him.

Hermione sat there for a moment, shaking as she tried to process what had just happened. She hadn't been able to fight him. The Imperius, Legilimency, Veritaserum – those were weapons she could not fight against. She was down to two options, since it seemed that escape was impossible and there was no one here to Obliviate her: death or insanity.

Hermione closed her eyes against the hot tears that nevertheless spilled over. She was to young to die, too young to go through this. She still had so much to do: she had to finish Hogwarts, she had to give her parents their lives back, she had to tell Ron how she felt about him, she had to help find the Horcruxes, she had to make sure that Voldemort died….

A bubble of not quite hope, but determination.

She was in the Death Eaters' Headquarters. Even if she couldn't get away, she could still watch, listen, observe…if she could find out where another Horcrux was, if she could somehow let someone, maybe another captive, know…the odds were almost insurmountable, but if she could use this, if she could find another Horcrux, or find out where one was….

The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup. Those had been found and destroyed. Nagini. And the sixth…something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's. Probably Ravenclaw's, as Ron had once remarked: it was unlikely that the Heir of Slytherin would put a piece of his soul into anything of Gryffindor's. They had guessed that the sixth Horcrux was in Albania – hence the trip to the airport to buy tickets – but that was really only a guess, based on rumors and speculation. If she could know for sure…

She knew it wasn't much, but it was something. It gave her something to think about, something other than what inevitably awaited her.

She would not die. She would not lose her mind. And she would not let them get her memories. She would wait for her chance to escape, and while she was waiting she would look for the last Horcrux. She would keep her memories safe – the alternative was too horrible to consider – and she would get out of here.

Hermione wiped away her tears, pulled her shirt over her head, and began to plan.

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_Review please!_


	3. Peacocks and Canaries

_Last Chapter: _

Hermione wiped away her tears, pulled her shirt back over her head, and began to plan.

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Three: Peacocks and Canaries**

Hermione wasn't called the brightest witch of her age for nothing. Even without a wand, she was a force to be reckoned with. She used her time alone effectively: within a few hours, she had examined every inch of the small bedroom and attached bathroom, and she had a plan.

A plan that required waiting. Too much waiting. The hours she spent standing next to the door holding a heavy lamp would have been better spent sleeping, but she couldn't risk missing her chance. She might not have another.

When the door finally clicked, unlocking itself, she had been ready for three hours. She was leaning against the doorframe, half-asleep, trying to conserve what energy she had left, but at the click of the lock she became fully alert. She lifted the lamp above her head, her arms shaking slightly with the effort.

The door opened. Hermione brought down the lamp with all the force she could muster. There was a thud and a groan, and Lucius Malfoy crumpled unconscious to the floor. Red blood gushed through his white-blond hair to stain the hardwood floor.

So much blood….but there was no time to waste. She slammed the door behind him, using the motion to force his feet into the room.

She knelt next to him and, hating to touch him, turned him over and thrust her hands inside his robes, searching for her wand and his. She felt ill, being so close to him.

He stirred, and she flinched away and lost her balance. Her hand landed in the pool of blood and she flinched away from that too. _Get a hold of yourself, Hermione, _she scolded herself. _ There's too much at risk here for you to waste time on fear._

She took a deep breath and knelt over him again, putting her hands inside his robes. _Slowly, Hermione. Carefully, objectively. _She found the wands, side by side in the same pocket, in just a few moments. Standing, she Stunned Lucius, locked the door, and went into the tiny bathroom to wash his blood from her hands.

Her hands shook as the cold water washed over them. She avoiding looking at herself in the mirror, but as she straightened from wiping her hands on her too-large jeans she caught a glimpse of herself and had to stop and stare.

She looked both younger and older than she had the last time she had seen herself properly, at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Her hair was longer, wilder. Her face was pale and thin, almost gaunt. Her body was skinny and wiry from months on the run. But her eyes seemed larger in her thin face and more frightened than she had ever seen them. In fact, it made her frightened to look at them, so she turned away and picked up her wand from the counter where she had placed it.

Wait – his wand was still there.

A grim smile tugging at her lips, Hermione picked up Lucius's wand, took hold of each end, and without hesitation, snapped it in two. That wand would never Imperius anyone again.

Hermione opened the bathroom door and tossed the pieces, linked only by a dragon heartstring, to lie in the growing pool of blood. She felt a faint surge of triumph that she wasn't sure was healthy.

She could worry about turning Dark later; now, she had to go. Apparition was out – she'd tried during her long wait – and from the feel of the wards, she suspected they were anti-Portkey too. Still, it didn't hurt to try_. "Portus,"_ she murmured, tapping the lamp. Nothing happened.

Well, that was no great loss; she had expected it, at least. As the Order had proved back in July, there were other ways to travel. She needed a broom.

Hermione Disillusioned herself before leaving the room and cast _Muffliato _before closing and locking the door, using a rare locking spell that made the door impervious to _Alohomora. _

She suppressed a smirk at the thought of Lucius Malfoy trapped inside, and instead turned her attention to her surroundings. She was lucky: she was in a corridor lined with windows, and windows were what she needed.

From the view, she judged she was about four stories up, though it was hard to tell in the dark. If she had visited here some other time, she would have been impressed – and slightly sickened – by the Malfoys' elaborate grounds. She could see numerous topiary, a fountain, an elaborate arrangement of narcissus, and was that a peacock? No matter. She needed to leave.

"_Accio_ Nimbus Two Thousand and One," she whispered, and waited. She hoped nobody was awake to notice a racing broom flying through the manor of its own volition, but she needed to be ready in case someone did.

Luck, or something like it, was on her side. The broom glided silently down the corridor to stop at her waist, and no footsteps echoed after it. Hermione took a deep breath, staring at the broom. She had always hated flying.

The windows weren't even locked: they opened the Muggle way, but silently, without the creaking that accompanied Hermione's window-openings at home.

Home. She held the thought in her mind for a moment, drawing strength from the bittersweet memory – then pushed it out. She needed to focus, now more than ever. If she were caught now, the consequences would be disastrous.

Trying to ignore the fear settling itself into her belly – she hated flying, _hated _it – Hermione mounted the broom and, slowly and with great effort, managed to exit through the window.

_Don't look down, don't look down, _Hermione told herself. And looked down.

The broom wobbled and swerved as she tried to calm herself. _Okay, Hermione. Just over that fence. _

She leaned forward an inch, accelerating as much as she dared. Freedom loomed ahead, it was within reach –

_DONG!_

She had crashed into something unseen, some sort of barrier above the high hedge surrounding the garden. A terrible noise sounded, like the ringing of a gong, and Hermione fell some twenty feet to the ground, the broom just out of her grasp.

By the time she could breathe again, there were lights and noises coming from the manor. She tried to stand, but her knees gave way and she fell again: she would have bruises all over; her clothes were covered in grass stains and dirt.

She could see herself again. The wards, whatever they were, had cancelled her Disillusionment Charm. Panicking, she tried to cast it again, but it didn't work.

A door opened and light spilled out onto the dark lawn. Figures rushed out, two, four, five. Another, another.

Her options were limited. Hermione grabbed her broom and pulled herself up, then hobbled over to hide behind a particularly large topiary of a peacock with outstretched tail feathers. She broke off a small twig and cast a Hover Charm on it, just to see if her wand still worked. Thankfully, it did.

The wards only blocked disguises, then. Some small part of her wondered how they did it, and how she might learn how to cast such complex magic.

Some twenty figures were now spread out across the lawn, sweeping their illuminated wands over the grounds. They were paying special attention to the perimeter, it seemed, but no one had drawn near her yet. Even these wards had limitations, it seemed.

There was a loud noise as a Death Eater blasted apart a cluster of rosebushes.

"Rabastan! Can you please refrain from ruining my garden?"

"Cissy, we can't get let the Mudblood get away!"

"Wormtail, here."

Hermione started. The last voice was much too close, and horribly familiar. She ducked her head and chanced a look around the peacock's tail.

Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew stood not ten feet from her. Pettigrew looked around anxiously; Snape had his wand out and was aiming it at Pettigrew.

"Where was it in Albania, Wormtail, that you found him?"

"A forest – near Tirana."

"What was there? What was at the tree?"

"N-nothing. I don't see why you need to know - "

"That's none of your concern. Don't lie to me, Wormtail. What was in the tree? Or I will tell the Dark Lord about your attempted desertion."

"Nothing!" Wormtail squeaked; Hermione couldn't quite see, but she was fairly certain that Snape's wand had moved just a little nearer to Wormtail's heart. "Nothing, I swear! It was the place he needed, he said, not the thing. It's at Hogwarts now!"

"And what is it?"

"I don't know! I don't know! Don't tell, please!"

A pause, and then a whispered, _"Obliviate."_

Hermione's heart was beating double-time. If she were found here, she would be as good as dead. Unless…

It was a struggle to still her shaking hand, but finally she managed to take careful aim around the peacock's tail. She cast the charm as quietly as possible, and a second later there were two memory-wiped Death Eaters trying to get their bearings. The expression on Snape's face would have been funny if not for the danger she was in.

It looked like any chance of sneaking away was out, so she might as well take advantage of the situation. She Stunned them both, and waited. The Death Eaters were still searching the garden and seemed oblivious to their missing comrades.

She Stunned two more before anyone noticed. Then,

"Severus!" Bellatrix shouted suddenly. "Severus, where are you?"

A pause. Narcissa added, in a higher voice, "Rabastan! Avery! Pettigrew!"

Some quieter voices. Several of the Stunned Death Eaters twitched and Hermione guessed that they had all been summoned back to the house. Sure enough, figures rushed across the grounds to join Narcissa and Bellatrix.

There were about a dozen of them left, and they set out en masse around the perimeter. Several Death Eaters were blasting plants out of the way, and this time Narcissa didn't protest.

They were drawing nearer; there was nothing she could do to hide. She would have to fight. She wished she had some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, or knew how to cast that curse that Sirius had allegedly used to kill thirteen people.

Hermione had never been particularly good at Defense, so now –_ play to your strengths_ – what was the best bit of offensive magic she had ever cast?

It came to her like lightening. She waited until the last possible moment, for the moment when they first spotted Pettigrew lying on the ground, then transfigured the peacock topiary into dozens of canaries that, at a gesture from her wand, attacked the Death Eaters.

In all the confusion, she was able to Stun three more, but there were simply too many of them. Within a minute they had surrounded her and it was all she could do to dodge the jets of red light. Finally, one hit and she fell screaming to the ground.

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_Please review!_


	4. Awakenings

_Last Chapter: _

In all the confusion, she was able to Stun three more, but there were simply too many of them. Within a minute they had surrounded her and it was all she could do to dodge the jets of red light. Finally, one hit and she fell screaming to the ground.

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Four: Awakenings**

The first thing she knew was that she hurt all over. She couldn't think how or when it happened, but it didn't matter. She just wanted it to stop.

She tried to cry out for help, but for some reason her vocal chords weren't cooperating and all she could manage was a sort of half-gasp, half-moan. She considered trying again but the attempt had sent spasms of pain down her throat.

"Granger? Are you awake?"

She should know that voice. For several seconds she searched her memory, trying to figure out who was with her, but she couldn't. The dots wouldn't be connected and she couldn't even lift the pencil to try.

"Granger? Granger!"

The voice sounded anxious. She should answer. But she couldn't, it hurt too much…what had happened to her?

"Granger! Hermione! Are you in there?"

In there? Was she in a coma? What did coma patients do to communicate? Squeeze hands…but she was pretty sure her hand wasn't being held. She would have noticed, right? She moved her fingers to make sure and jolts of pain shot up her arm. She gasp-moaned again. _Make it stop, please…._

"Granger, let me know you're in there and I can give you a potion for the pain. But you've got to tell me first."

She tried to speak, but could only make that horrid noise. She just wanted it to stop…she needed to tell him (she was pretty sure it was a him) to make it stop. Okay, coma patient, paralysis…she had read once about a paralyzed man who had written a whole book by blinking a certain number of times to indicate letters of the alphabet.

Merlin, she was stupid. She hadn't even thought to open her eyes.

Her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, but she managed to pry them open. She made that noise again, and a blurry shape appeared in the light above her head.

"Granger?"

She blinked. Once, twice, three times. The blur was slowly coming into focus, resolving into a pointed face, white-blond hair, grey eyes. The pale face was drawn in worry, which seemed wrong somehow but she couldn't bring herself to think about it. If only the pain would stop….

"Okay, you're awake," the boy said. He sounded anxious. "Er, are you still in pain? Do you want a potion?"

_Yes, yes, yes, _she tried to scream, but what came out was a raspy sort of moan.

"Does that mean yes?" he said nervously.

Okay, so speaking wouldn't work, and if the boy couldn't understand her attempt at speech, he wasn't bright enough to pick up on any sort of blink-code. This was going to hurt, she knew it, but she needed to tell him…she inclined her head once.

Black spots appeared across her field of vision. Her head was pounding so hard she could barely stand to think. But the boy had understood. He looked a little less worried.

"Okay, I've got the potion right here…but you're going to have to sit up to drink it…er, I don't think you can manage that, can you? You don't need to answer that. And I'm not supposed to use magic on you, so I'm going to lift you up, okay? Er, just so you know."

He leaned towards her and placed his hands under her armpits. Ow, _ow, OW!_ Hermione moaned, and her vision blurred with tears.

"Granger, you need to sit up to be able to swallow."

He lifted her another few inches and set her against the headboard. Tears were streaming down her face and she was lightheaded from the pain.

"Drink this."

A hand holding a glass phial appeared in front of her. The boy placed it against her mouth and tilted it.

She didn't know where it came from, but it was purely reflex. She clamped her lips together and refused to swallow. The pain was making it hard to think but she knew somehow that she could not trust him.

The phial was removed. "This won't hurt you, I promise. I'd swear an Unbreakable Vow if we had a binder. Now, drink."

There was a note of sincerity in the voice that she'd never heard before. When he placed the phial to her lips again she swallowed the disgusting potion without question. Almost immediately, the pain dulled, and before she sank back into unconsciousness, she was finally able to connect the dots and know who was with her.

Draco Malfoy.

* * *

When she awoke again, Hermione ached all over. It was still painful, but not excruciating. This time, she remembered that when you were awake, you were supposed to open your eyes. She remembered that she was in Malfoy Manor, and she remembered that she was being watched by Draco Malfoy.

"Awake, Granger?" It was more of his usual sneer this time, though he couldn't keep a note of worry from his voice.

"Yes." Her voice was raspy and barely more than a whisper, but at least it wasn't that awful moaning noise.

"Want your potion?" He held out a phial of murky green liquid that looked vaguely familiar. She didn't take it.

"You drank it before," Draco said accusingly.

"I didn't know who you were, then."

Draco looked floored. "You didn't?"

Hermione shook her head. Ow. Mistake.

"Do you know who I am now?" he asked.

"Malfoy." She almost spat the name.

He smirked. "Back to normal, Granger."

She just looked at him. She wasn't back to normal at all. She felt worse than she ever had before – excluding that horrible awakening and the actual Cruciatus Curse, of course – and her thoughts were blurred and fuzzy enough that she was afraid to think too hard for fear of finding out how badly her brain was damaged.

Alice Longbottom's blank face popped into her head. Hermione shuddered.

"Okay, you're not," Draco said. "You still feel horrible. So take the potion." He thrust it at her.

"I don't know how brain damaged you think I am, but I'm not about to drink anything given to me by a Death Eater."

Draco slammed the potion on the bedside table and leaned over her. "Listen, Granger, you have to take the potion. It's not Veritaserum and it's not Amortentia and it's not whatever the hell you think it is. It's just a painkilling potion."

He uncorked the phial and took a tiny sip. He grimaced at the taste but swallowed. "See? Not poison."

"What's your deepest secret?" Hermione challenged.

"Not telling. It's not Veritaserum. Will you drink it now?"

"I will if you tell me why you're so anxious that I drink it."

He glared at her. "Fine. Because I didn't put the proper protective spells on my broom, you almost got away and now I'm being punished for it. It's my job is to get you back to normal so you can be interrogated properly. If you die or lose your mind, it's on my head. Now drink." He shoved the phial at her. She took it and, after a moment, drank. Ugh. It was disgusting.

But she felt the aches ebb slightly. The fuzziness in her mind cleared almost imperceptibly, but enough that she finally remembered to ask, "What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Draco asked.

Hermione thought back, though it made her head ache.

"I turned your peacock into a flock of canaries."

"Right. McGonagall would be proud," Draco said dryly, but he looked grudgingly impressed. "Well, you managed to Stun Yaxley, Jugson, and Lestrange, but then Bellatrix hit you with a Cruciatus. Mother made her take you inside while she Ennervated everyone you'd Stunned. Bellatrix and the others had their fun with you until Snape woke up and made them stop. He did what he could to stabilize you, then left you with me. You're to have a week of bed-rest and potions, and magic is not to be used on you at all."

Draco's explanation gave way to a bevy of thoughts. She must be pretty far gone if Snape had given the order for no magic. Just how brain-damaged was she? She'd taken down more than a third of them. If McGonagall knew what she'd done she'd give one hundred points to Gryffindor. Wasn't Snape Head of Hogwarts – why was he here? Merlin, she really hated Bellatrix Lestrange.

She finally settled on a question. "Where were you during all of this?"

Draco's eyes darkened. "Looking for my father. Found him, too. Don't think you'll get away with this, Mudblood."

Hermione forced a grin. "No curse you can cast will change the fact that I beat your father, wandless and Cruciated and Muggle-born. How is that inferior magic?"

"Watch your filthy mouth, Mudblood," Draco snarled.

"Or what? You can't use magic on me. I bet you don't even have a wand. What are you going to do? Punch me?"

Draco's cheeks tinged pink and Hermione smirked. She knew he was remembering that time third year when she'd blacked his eye.

"Derry!" he called loudly. There was a pop and a wizened, shrunken house-elf wearing a pillowcase appeared at his side. "Get my father. Tell him the Mudblood is awake."

The house-elf bowed and Disapparated.

"Can't fight your own battles?" Hermione taunted, but weakly. After that Imperius she really did not want to see Lucius Malfoy again.

"Slytherin's about winning, not about playing fair," Draco returned, but he sounded almost regretful.

Hermione leaned back against the headboard to look at the ceiling. She breathed deeply, trying to gather the strength to withstand whatever was coming. She realized suddenly that she was shivering. She hated to admit it, but she was frightened of Lucius Malfoy.

Draco leaned toward her, a crease between his eyebrows. "Look, Granger - " he started, but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

Lucius Malfoy stepped in "So the Mudblood's awake," he sneered. "Draco. Out."

Draco hesitated for a moment, but left the room. He closed the door softly behind him.

Lucius Malfoy drew nearer to the bed. He looked down at Hermione, who was staring determinedly at the ceiling.

"Feeling proud of yourself, Mudblood?" he asked quietly. Hermione said nothing, but Lucius continued, unfazed. "You will pay for that. Unfortunately, you're not to be cursed until the Dark Lord's done with you. But there are other ways to punish."

Hermione had been anticipating this; she tried to roll away, but Lucius was too fast for her. He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the headboard so hard that her ears rang and dark spots clouded her field of vision. She gasped involuntarily and while she tried to recover, he forced her wrists together and held them over her head with one hand. She was pinned against the headboard, utterly helpless.

"Where is Potter?" Lucius demanded harshly. His face was splotchy with rage.

Hermione stayed silent, not trusting her voice not to quake with fear.

Lucius slammed her against the headboard again. "You could save yourself a lot of unnecessary pain by telling me what you know now," he said coolly. "You'll be interrogated soon enough. Well, Mudblood?"

Hermione shook her head, too frightened to speak. Lucius said nothing, but his gaze drifted from her face to study her body, pinned against the headboard like a rare moth. As he studied her, Hermione realized that she was no longer wearing the Muggle woman's clothes. Someone had changed her into a white flannel nightgown. And she was no longer wearing a bra.

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly, not looking up. "There's rather a lot I could do to you, Mudblood."

Fighting back tears, Hermione shook her head. With one last sneer, Lucius let go of her wrists and turned on his heel to leave the room.

Hermione stared at the far wall, trying to keep her face blank, but when she heard the door close she burst into tears. She was frightened, violated, humiliated –

"What's wrong, Granger?"

Dear Merlin, not him again.

"Go away," she choked, swiping her sleeve across her face.

"I can't," he said. "I'm stuck here, remember?"

So although it was completely stupid and childish, Hermione turned away from Draco, pulled the covers over her head, and sobbed.

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_**A/N:** Just to let you know, it might take me a little while longer to post the next chapter. I'm taking my computer in for repairs tomorrow and they told me I will get it back in 6 – 10 days. Hopefully it will be 6 days and not 10, but you never know. Don't worry though, I'm almost done tweaking the next chapter and it will be up as soon as I get my computer back._

_Oh, and please review!_


	5. Wizard Chess and a Muggle Vow

_**A/N:**__ Those 7-10 days without my laptop turned out to be 2 days! Even though they had to ship my laptop across quite a few states to fix it, I sent it in Tuesday morning and got it back this afternoon. So that's why you're getting a quick update, because I promised that I would post as soon as my computer came back. It's all due to Apple, so thank them by buying their products! :D_

_

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_

_Last Chapter:_

"Go away," she said tearfully, swiping her sleeve across her face.

"I can't," he said. "I'm stuck here, remember?"

So although it was completely stupid and childish, Hermione turned away from Draco, pulled the covers over her head, and sobbed.

_

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_

**A Matter of Priorities**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Five: Wizard Chess and a Muggle Vow**

It was hard to have a good cry when you knew you were being watched, so it wasn't too long before Hermione stopped sobbing, dried her face, and reemerged from under the covers.

"Here," Draco said, and handed her a handkerchief.

Hermione took it, surprised, and blew her nose loudly. She turned back to Draco, not sure what to expect.

"Keep it," he said with a small smile that was not quite his usual sneer. Was it possible that Draco Malfoy was human after all?

"Thanks." Her voice was raspy, even raspier than that of the smoker she'd Polyjuiced herself into.

"You're welcome." He sounded surprised. Maybe she shouldn't have thanked him – he was her jailer, after all – but it was a simple reflex, the result of the good manners her parents had drilled into her as a child. And as he'd said, they were stuck together; they might as well make the best of it. Besides, though she hated to admit it, at this point Draco Malfoy just might be her best chance at a way out of here.

"Chess?" Draco said. Hermione stared. Draco shrugged. "I'm not to leave this room for a week, remember? I've practically moved in. So how about a game of chess?"

"Okay," Hermione said, still completely nonplussed. Draco Malfoy was being civil, even friendly – well, "friendly" was a bit of a stretch, but still. Maybe her damaged brain was hallucinating.

Draco produced a chess set from a dresser drawer and set up the game on the bedside table. He wasn't entirely changed - he gave himself the white pieces and directed his pawn to move two squares forward. He looked at her expectantly. "Your move."

They played quietly, only speaking to direct their pieces, but their silence was not for concentration. Hermione noticed Draco sneaking glances at her while she was staring at the chessboard, and Hermione could never fully concentrate on wizard's chess, not even in the best of circumstances. In the quiet room, the cracking and shouting of the chess pieces seemed to echo off the walls.

When they'd finished a game – Hermione lost horribly – Draco suggested they play again. Hermione lost even more horribly.

Halfway through their third game, Draco swept the pieces off the chessboard and closed it. Ignoring the shouted protests from the chess pieces, he turned to Hermione.

"Are you always this bad at chess, or is this something new to you?"

"I'm always this bad," Hermione admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

"I don't believe you," Draco said decisively.

"Why not?" Hermione challenged.

"Because logic is your forte. You got past Snape's logic problem first year, and we all know your grades. You should be brilliant at chess."

"Well, I'm not."

"Obviously," Draco sneered. "But you must have been before."

"I wasn't."

"Why not?"

"I just wasn't. I've never been good at chess."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I'm just not."

"You're lying," Draco said triumphantly. "_That's _something you've never been good at, Granger. Lying."

"I managed to fool you fifth year though, didn't I?" Hermione combated. "The weapon in the forest – you lot really are paranoid."

"Don't change the subject," Draco snapped. "Why are you bad at chess?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. I'm just making sure you're not brain-damaged."

"Oh how _sweet _of you, Malfoy," Hermione said, her voice saccharine. "But really, you needn't worry. I'll be fine."

Draco leaned closer and gripped her arm tightly. "Listen, Granger," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You will answer my questions honestly, or I'll bring back my father."

She glared at him, her cheeks hot. She'd been stupid to think that he'd changed.

"Fine. There's a reason I'm bad at chess. I'm not brain-damaged. Now, what else did you bring?"

"What is it?" Draco asked, ignoring her question. "What's the reason you're bad at chess?"

"None of your business, Malfoy."

"I'm making it my business," Draco said calmly. "Tell me, or Father will come have a word with you."

Hermione said nothing. She would try to call his bluff. She had to, or he could use this threat whenever he wanted. She would not give him power over her.

"Well, I reckon I can figure it out for myself," Draco drawled. "Weasley's brilliant at chess. So playing chess makes you think of him and that gets you all…flustered."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Hermione snapped. Her face was burning.

Draco smirked. "Right in one, am I?'

"No, you're not," Hermione said angrily, but that annoying smirk remained fixed in place. If anything, it grew wider.

"Okay. Fine. I'm bad at chess because first year we played against McGonagall's giant chess set and the queen nearly killed Ron. I thought it had, for a while. We had to leave him there. And then I had to leave Harry to face You-Know-Who while I tried to get Ron to the hospital wing before he died and send a message to Dumbledore before Harry died. So, alright, chess makes me think of Ron. Ron dying, Harry in danger, and all sorts of horrible things to get past. Something _you _wouldn't understand, because you've never done any sort of _real _fighting in your life."

"_Is _he dead?" Draco asked. Something about his eyes was a little off. "Weasley?"

"No. He's fine. He's healthy."

"Where is he?"

A flare of anger. He was trying to find out where Ron was, he was trying to interrogate her, he was trying to get information for the Death Eaters. But he couldn't make her tell, she would take the knowledge to the grave, she would never tell where Ron and Harry were hiding.

And then she realized that it didn't matter.

"I don't know," she said, surprised, then panicked. "I don't know." Then realization hit her, and joyous, "I don't know!"

"Fuck," Draco said. Then, "Okay, let's play a game. Question and answer. Let's find out what you remember."

Hermione looked at him dubiously.

"You don't have to answer," he continued. "Just so we figure out what you know."

A pause, then, "Okay," Hermione said.

"What have you been doing since the end of term?"

"I don't know."

"Have you been with Potter and Weasley?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"Why were you at the airport?"

"I don't know."

"Who are the members of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I don't know."

"Fuck," Draco said again.

"I'm brain-damaged, then," Hermione said, trying to sound glad. At least they would never find out what she knew…but then, neither would she. And her intelligence was all she had…

"Let's find out," Draco said. "What's your middle name?'

"Jean."

"When's your birthday?"

"September nineteenth."

"What's the incantation for a Hover Charm?"

"_Wingardium Leviosa."_

"What are the Five Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration?"

"Food, money, human beings, magical beings, and magically copyrighted material, such as wands and books."

"And the incantation for the Patronus Charm?"

"_Expecto Patronum._ But unless you're thinking of a happy memory, it's useless."

"N.E.W.T standard, as always," Draco said, sounding half-disgusted, half-admiring. "No, I don't think you're brain-damaged. It seems as if you've been selectively Obliviated, but I've no idea how. You've forgotten everything that might be of use to the Dark Lord, which I expect is rather a lot. Besides the Dark Lord himself I don't know who would be powerful enough to cast it…Dumbledore would have been, but he's dead. Moody, but he's dead too. Snape, but he's on our side."

Something – perhaps some remnant of a memory – twinged inside Hermione at that statement. Draco continued, oblivious.

"McGonagall or Flitwick, but I can't think of how they'd have gotten in and out with no one noticing…same goes for Shacklebolt. Unless you were Obliviated before you went to the airport, but then you'd have been there as bait, and that's really not the Order's style….Merlin's balls, this better not come back to me!"

Draco looked tremendously angry, but there was enough worry beneath the anger that Hermione almost felt sorry for him.

"What will they do to you?" Hermione asked quietly.

Draco glared. "None of your business, Mudblood," he spat.

They were silent for a while.

"Look," Hermione said eventually. "I don't know if it will help, but if they think you did it I'll tell them you didn't – I'll take Veritaserum or swear an Unbreakable Vow or anything."

Draco looked at her skeptically. "And what do I have to do for you?"

Hermione already had an answer. "Don't leave me alone with a Death Eater again."

"I'm a Death Eater," Draco pointed out.

"I know _that. _A Death Eater besides you."

Draco seemed to consider it. "I don't know if I can do that. If a senior member tells me to get out, I have to do it."

"But Snape told you to stay, didn't he? And he must be You-Know-Who's right-hand man now, after what he did." Rage bubbled inside her at that, but she ignored it and continued. "So his order trumps everyone else's. Your father's. Bellatrix Lestrange's."

"Agreed," Draco said finally. "I won't leave this room on the order of anyone but Snape or the Dark Lord himself, and if I'm blamed for you losing your memory, you'll swear I had nothing to do with it."

"Agreed," Hermione said, and stuck out her hand.

Draco looked at it distastefully. "We haven't got a Binder."

"I know. This is how Muggles seal agreements," Hermione said. Draco scowled.

"Then why would I do it? I'm certainly no Mudblood."

"Because we've got to seal it somehow," Hermione said, annoyed. "Muggle heritage isn't contagious, you know."

"I'm no blood traitor, either," Draco said.

"Fine," Hermione said, retracting her hand. "It's not agreed."

Draco lunged forward and seized her hand in both his own. He squeezed it far too tightly and Hermione winced. "Agreed," he ordered. "Say it's agreed."

"Agreed," Hermione gasped.

"Agreed," Draco said again, and let go.

Hermione cradled her hand and glared at Draco. "What was that for?" she demanded.

"The agreement," Draco said calmly. "Now we're bound to it."

_Not exactly,_ Hermione thought, but didn't say. Draco seemed to think they had just made the Muggle equivalent of an Unbreakable Vow and she decided that it was probably better not to correct him. He was a Slytherin, after all, and if she wanted any leverage in this situation, she needed to act as Slytherin as she could.

"You didn't have to squeeze so hard," she said instead, rubbing her hand. It really hurt.

"There's still some minor damage from the Cruciatus," Draco said, sounding almost chagrined. "I forgot."

Hermione didn't say anything, for fear her voice would break. Tears were pricking her eyes. Her hand really, really hurt.

"I should call Snape," Draco said, sounding a little worried. "It's time for your potion anyway. How's your head?"

It wasn't until he asked that she realized just her badly her head was pounding. She was sure Lucius Malfoy hadn't helped, either.

"Bad," she said quietly. Her voice trembled.

"I'm calling Snape," Draco said, pushing up his sleeve.

"Don't - " Hermione started, but Draco interrupted.

"He's in charge of your recovery, he won't do anything to hinder it," he said irritably.

Hermione shook her head, which didn't help her headache. She winced.

"Fine, I'll try and stay here, okay, Granger? Unless he outright tells me to leave, I'll stay here."

Without waiting for a response, he pressed his finger against the ugly black tattoo and screwed his face up in concentration. That mark was definitely more than a Protean Charm.

A moment later, the door slammed open and Severus Snape stormed in.

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**A/N:**_ Please review! And buy Apple products, they get repaired very quickly. :D_


	6. Exploding Snape

_Last Chapter: _

Without waiting for a response, he pressed his finger against the ugly black tattoo and screwed his face up in concentration. That mark was definitely more than a Protean Charm.

A few minutes later, the door slammed open and Severus Snape stormed in.

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Six: Exploding Snape**

"You were to tell me the moment the Mudblood awoke, Malfoy," Snape said quietly. Hermione had known Snape long enough to realize that unlike most people, when he was angry he was more inclined to whisper than to shout.

"I-I told my father, Professor. I thought he'd passed it on to you."

"He didn't," Snape almost whispered.

"I'm sorry," Draco said miserably. "Please don't tell – Him."

Draco sounded so pathetic that this time Hermione actually did feel sorry for him. Apparently life as a Death Eater wasn't at all like Draco had expected it to be.

"Your cowardice does you no good, Draco," Snape said derisively. His voice was slightly louder than it had been. "However, I shall let your error pass. This time. Know, though, that if you fail me again, the Dark Lord will be…most displeased."

"Thank you," Draco whispered. He sounded close to tears.

"How long has she been awake?" Snape demanded.

Draco glanced at his watch. "Nearly two and a half hours."

"Idiot child! You should have summoned me sooner. Perhaps I should have left Wormtail with this job and let you remodel the grounds with your dear Auntie Bella."

Draco shook his head mutely; his eyes were brimming with tears. It was almost embarrassing to see how frightened he was. Not that Hermione didn't understand his fear – she wasn't too keen on spending any more time with Bellatrix Lestrange, herself. She couldn't imagine living in the same house as her, having to see her every day…again, despite herself, Hermione felt a twinge of pity for Draco Malfoy.

Snape reached inside his robes and extracted a potion. He turned to Hermione and thrust it at her, his attention on her for the first time.

The instant her eyes met Snape's cold, dead ones, Hermione felt a surge of anger. This man had killed Dumbledore. He'd betrayed the Order and everyone in it. In a way, he was responsible for every death that had occurred since he sold Dumbledore to Voldemort.

"Take it, Granger," Snape ordered. His voice was dangerously quiet once more.

"First prove it's not poison, or Veritaserum, or anything I don't want to take," Hermione said.

"Take it, Granger, or I'll force you to."

"You wouldn't," Hermione said, sounding braver than she felt. "You're in charge of my healing; you can't use magic on me, you said so yourself."

"I didn't say I would use magic. Now take it, or I will force you."

Summoning up all her courage, Hermione looked him in the eyes. As frightened as she was, she needed to find out where the line was.

"No."

And then he was at her side, batting away her flailing arms to grasp her jaw and force her mouth open. Hermione tried to twist away but to no avail. She was still too weak.

"Draco, the potion," Snape said calmly.

A few seconds later, Draco was standing above her. He uncorked the phial and, without looking at her, poured its contents down her throat. Snape forced her jaw shut and pinched her nose tightly, forcing her to swallow or suffocate.

She swallowed – she couldn't help it – and Snape let go of her. Hermione bent over, coughing and spluttering, but her headache had subsided. Her jaw hurt, though, and she was sure it would bruise.

"Going to cooperate, Granger?" Snape asked coldly.

"It's not as if I have a choice," Hermione snapped. Snape ignored her, instead reaching inside his robes and withdrawing a small Muggle torch, a reflex hammer, and several other medical instruments.

What followed was strangely like a Muggle physical. Snape took her temperature, her blood pressure, her reflexes (which were much too slow, but Snape didn't seemed concerned; apparently it was a typical side-effect of a prolonged Cruciatus – had she never known that or had she forgotten?).

In fact, though all the results indicated that Hermione was not nearly as well as she should be, Snape seemed completely unconcerned. He didn't speak other than to give orders such as "Granger, give me your arm" or "Draco, the stethoscope" ("The what?" "That," Snape said, pointing).

And then he checked her eyes. Frowned. And checked them again.

"You have a mild concussion, Granger," he said.

"Oh," said Hermione.

"You shouldn't," Snape continued. "Unless you suffered any trauma to your head today?"

"Er," said Hermione, thinking back to the episode with Lucius Malfoy.

Snape's nostrils flared. "By whose hand?" he asked, his voice definitely now a whisper.

"Malfoy's," Hermione said, then as Snape turned on Draco, brandishing his wand, she realized her mistake.

"No! Not him!" she shouted, or rather tried to – her voice was still too hoarse to manage a shout, but thankfully it was loud enough to catch Snape's attention. He turned back to her.

"You wish to retract your statement?" he murmured.

"To qualify it," Hermione said shakily. She did not like the look he was giving her. "Lucius Malfoy. Not Draco."

Snape lowered his wand. Draco backed away to stand against the wall. His expression was a mixture of confusion and relief.

"What did Lucius do?" Snape asked, his voice still dangerously low.

Hermione flushed. Her gaze flickered to Draco, then back to Snape. "Slammed me against the headboard. Threatened me," she said.

"With what?"

Hermione looked away, her cheeks redder than ever. She really didn't want to tell. She shouldn't have answered him in the first place.

"With what, Granger?" Snape repeated. Hermione looked down at her bedspread. Dark green. Slytherin green.

Snape exhaled through his overly large nostrils. "Granger, tell me what he threatened you with or I will bring him back here to demonstrate."

After their last confrontation, Hermione knew he wasn't bluffing. And maybe if Snape knew, he would keep Lucius away from her. It wasn't that she thought Snape liked her – far from it – but he was responsible for her health and he seemed to take that responsibility seriously. So maybe she would tell him.

But Draco – Draco didn't have to know. It would give him a weapon to use against her. Or maybe he wouldn't believe her. Or maybe the knowledge would hurt him. She didn't know how to predict Draco Malfoy anymore.

She looked sidelong at Draco again. His skin was very white, even paler than usual. He looked as if he didn't want to hear what she was about to say.

Maybe she could ask Snape to send him out of the room, but would Snape do as she asked? And did she really want to be left alone with Snape?

The answer to that was an emphatic _No._

"Granger, last chance," Snape said, pushing up his sleeve.

"Stop!" Hermione gasped, terrified. "Stop! I'll tell."

He looked at her expectantly, and when she didn't answer prompted, "What did he threaten you with, Granger?"

Hermione looked down at the bedspread again. "Rape," she whispered miserably.

Snape exhaled furiously again. "And did he act on that threat?" he murmured.

Hermione shook her head, still staring at the bedspread. She moved to clasp her hands over the green and noticed the pale purple bruises encircling her wrists. Snape saw at the same moment and grabbed one in the instant she tried to move it away.

"How did this happen, Granger?" he asked sharply. This wasn't good. His voice had gotten so quiet that it had nowhere to go but up. Which meant that Draco could hear.

"I told you, he slammed me against the headboard," she said.

Snape grabbed her other wrist, forced them together, and pulled Hermione up against the headboard so that she was in the same position Lucius had put her in.

"Like this?" Snape asked. His voice was getting increasingly louder.

"Yes," Hermione whimpered. She was terrified. What was he going to do?

"And then what?" Snape asked.

"Nothing," Hermione said tearfully. "He threatened me, that's all, okay? He just threatened me and looked at me and that's all."

Snape dropped her wrists and stepped back calmly. Hermione looked down. A tear dropped onto the green bedspread, quickly followed by another. She had never been more humiliated in her life.

Snape nodded and turned to face Draco. "I should send you to Bellatrix for this," he hissed.

"Don't," Draco said tremulously. "Please. Don't. I'm sorry. I won't mess up again."

"Granger?" Snape asked. "Would you rather have Pettigrew as your minder? Or Narcissa Malfoy? I assure you they would likely do better than young Mr. Malfoy here."

"No," Hermione whispered.

"Qualify that no, if you would, Granger," Snape said, parroting her earlier words.

"No, I want Draco Malfoy to stay," Hermione said quietly, and glanced up at Snape. He stared at her for nearly a full minute before nodding.

"Very well. Mr. Malfoy, take these," he pulled several small phials of potions from his robes and placed them on the dresser. "Give her one every two hours exactly. I'll send a house-elf with more this evening."

"Yes sir," Draco said quietly. "Thank you."

Now it was Draco's turn to be studied. Finally, Snape nodded and without another word, strode out of the bedroom and locked the door behind him.


	7. Stockholm Syndrome

_**A/N:**__ I'm a bad person…it's been almost a month since the last chapter. See, what happened was that the school year started again and I've been insanely busy… I'll try to have quicker updates in the future! I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

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_Last Chapter:_ Now it was Draco's turn to be studied. Finally, Snape nodded and without another word, strode out of the bedroom and locked the door behind him.

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Seven: Stockholm Syndrome**

A few moments of silence. Hermione continued to stare at the bedspread and the puddles of tears growing quickly in density. She heard a few deep breaths from her left and gathered that Draco too was struggling to control himself. No doubt he was succeeding better than she was.

Eventually Draco made his way back to the chair at Hermione's bedside.

"Gobstones, Granger?"

"Okay," she sniffled.

And, without speaking, they began to play.

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After five games of Gobstones and an attempt at Exploding Snap (Hermione's reflexes were slow and she got scorched more than usual), Draco made their first attempt at a conversation.

"Are you hungry? It's after six and it's been days since you've eaten."

"Days?" Hermione repeated.

"Of course, didn't I – well, I suppose I didn't mention it. You were unconscious for two days before you woke up the first time; this is the fourth day since you tried to escape."

Hermione tried not to think about what that meant for her brain, but said brain was remembering one of the books she'd read fifth year after she'd seen Mrs. Longbottom at St. Mungo's. To distract herself she told Draco, "Okay, then. Let's eat. And I'd like to bathe, too, and change my clothes."

Draco scowled at her but called out, "Derry!"

There was a crack and the house elf that had fetched Lucius Malfoy appeared. He must be assigned to Draco, Hermione mused.

"Master Draco," the elf rasped, bowing. It was difficult to tell with house elves, but Hermione got the impression that he was very old. "What is you wanting?"

"Dinner," Draco said, then amended, "Well, dinner for me. Soup for the Mudblood, I don't think she's up to much else yet."

The house-elf bowed and Disapparated.

"So," said Draco, turning back to Hermione. "Another game of Gobstones?"

"No," Hermione snapped, smarting from the use of the slur. Her head was swimming as she realized what she'd been doing – _fraternizing with the enemy! _(For some reason it was Ron's voice that said that.) To think that she'd been worried about what Draco would think about what his father did! To think that she was calling him _Draco _in her mind! She didn't need to keep the Malfoys apart – they were all the same.

Draco – no, Malfoy – laughed. "What's gotten into you, Granger? Still hung up on elf rights?"

Hermione's thoughts shifted again as she realized she hadn't even considered the poor house elf. What was she becoming? Had whoever Obliviated her modified her personality as well? Theoretically, it could be done by removing certain memories and modifying others, though it had never been proven – but then, the caster had managed the most precise Obliviation Hermione had ever heard of.

There was a small pop as two trays appeared, hovering above the bedside table. One held a steaming bowl of soup, along with a slice of brown bread and a glass of pumpkin juice, while the other held an elaborate meal of asparagus, pasta, and unless she was mistaken, duck.

Draco – Malfoy – handed Hermione her tray. She took it, but her hands must have been shaking more than she realized because a large amount of soup sloshed out of the bowl. Draco took the tray back.

"The potion first, I think."

Hermione drank it wordlessly, then accepted the tray of soup and began to eat. Her spoon clinked against the side of the bowl more often than it should have but at least she didn't spill anything else.

"Is that what's upset you, the house elves?" Malfoy repeated, still chortling as he set to his own meal.

"No," Hermione answered tersely.

"Why are you upset, then?" Malfoy asked.

"Stockholm Syndrome," Hermione thought, then realized she'd said it out loud. She dropped her spoon and stared into her soup as if it could explain why she'd been so stupid.

"What's that?" Malfoy asked.

"An emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as the result of continuous dependence and a need to cooperate for survival; it's named for a bank robbery in which employees were held hostage for six days."

Malfoy stared at her strangely for a moment before asking, "What's wrong with you, Granger?"

"I've been Veritaserumed," Hermione heard herself say, and winced as any chance for waiting for the effect to wear off disappeared.

"Don't be stupid, of course you haven't," Malfoy scoffed. "How would I have Veritaserumed you?"

"The soup. I'm not going to eat any more of it."

"You're being paranoid. The soup is fine," Malfoy said.

"Eat some, then," Hermione challenged.

"Fine." Malfoy looked at the soup in distaste, then took his own spoon and swallowed a mouthful.

"What do the Death Eaters have planned for me?" Hermione asked as soon as she saw his Adam's apple bob.

"To wait until you are well enough to be interrogated without losing your mind; then, to interrogate you and kill you slowly, in the hopes that Potter will see your death through the Dark Lord's eyes," Draco said calmly; then his eyes widened and he clamped his jaw shut. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Why did you become a Death Eater?" Hermione blurted before Draco could say anything else; it probably wasn't the best question she could ask, but it was the first thing she thought of.

"Because my father would have been killed if I hadn't. Have you really lost your memory?" Draco said before Hermione could open her mouth.

"Yes. What does You-Know-Who know about what Harry is doing?"

"I don't kno-"

"Does he know where Harry is, or where he's been?"

"No. Who are the members of Dumbledore's Army?"

Apparently this memory wasn't gone. "Me, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnegan, Cho Chang, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey, Dennis Creevey…" Hermione continued until she had listed all the members, including Marietta Edgecomb.

"Nobody I didn't know about," Draco muttered to himself.

"Did you find out anything new?" Hermione asked.

Draco scowled at her. "Not telling. It's worn off."

Hermione smiled smugly, content in the knowledge that even if she hadn't found out much, at least she'd found out more than Draco had.

"I'll send for some more soup, then," Draco grumbled.

"Fine," Hermione said. "But I'm not going to eat anything unless you've taste-tested it for me."

Draco scowled. "What do I care if you eat or not?"

"Snape will care," Hermione said. She knew she was manipulating him and was surprised at how easy it was – either Draco was not as Slytherin as she'd always assumed he was, or else he was very frightened of what might happen if he failed his task. Given his admission about why he became a Death Eater, she suspected the latter – which almost made her feel guilty for playing off his fears.

Almost.

"Fine," Draco said angrily. "But you have to promise not to exploit me if I get drugged – no questioning me if it's Veritaserum or taking advantage if it's Amortentia."

Hermione made a face at the last. "As if, Malfoy."

Draco smiled coolly. "Well, you know what they say about Mudbloods: they're so…feral."

Hermione felt rage boiling up; and yet she was almost relieved because this Draco she knew, this Draco she could place, in countless Potions and Care of Magical Creatures classes, across the Great Hall and on the Hogwarts Express. He was deliberately provoking a fight, with insulting words instead of threats he might actually carry through on.

Despite this realization, the words made her angry, and before she could stop herself she said, her voice sickly sweet, "Who says that, Malfoy? Your father?"

Draco went even paler, if that were possible, and looked away. She could see the protrusion of his clenched jaw.

Hermione wasn't sure if she should regret the way she'd forced them back to reality, this small cold room in the Death Eater headquarters instead of the muddy Hogwarts grounds. It would be nice to pretend that the only life at stake here was a hippogriff's, but that wasn't the case, and it was foolish to act as if it were.

"I agree to not take advantage of whatever potion you drink," Hermione said in lieu of an apology, and held out her hand. Draco grasped it briefly and let go as if she disgusted him.

"Derry," he said, and when the house elf appeared, spoke directly to him without looking at Hermione. "Take this tray away and bring a new one. Make sure - " he started, then seemed to think better of it. "Make sure you clean the dishes thoroughly," he said instead, but without his usual venom.

They ate in silence, Draco still smarting from the comment about his father, Hermione trying to make sense of Draco Malfoy, to figure out just how deep his prejudices went and just how shallow his loyalty to Voldemort was.

Finally, they were both finished (Draco was right; Hermione hadn't been able to finish her soup) and Draco called Derry back to clean up. Once the elf had vanished, Draco turned to Hermione with a hard glint in his flint-like eyes.

"Let's see about that bath."

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_Please review!_


	8. Bathroom Procedure and Power Shifts

**A/N: **_I'm sorry for such a late update! I started this story over the summer and forgot just how completely school takes over my life. I'm trying to double major and have to maintain a certain GPA to keep my scholarship, so I have very little time to write....but really that's no excuse. I'll try to do better from now on. I promise I will see this story through to the end - it might just take a little longer than I anticipated._

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_Last Chapter:_

Once the elf had vanished, Draco turned to Hermione with a hard glint in his flint-like eyes. "Let's see about that bath."

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Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Eight: Bathroom Procedure and Power Shifts**

Was he trying to frighten her, to make her draw comparisons between himself and his father? It seemed unlikely, given his reaction to her Snape-induced confession; still, maybe it was his way of getting back at her for bringing it up.

Whatever the reason, she was not frightened; despite his looks, Draco was too mercurial in his moods, too petty in his insults and arguments to bear up under anything more than superficial comparison. He was very much Lucius Malfoy's son, but he was not Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes," Hermione said calmly. "Let's."

Draco looked floored for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Fine," he said. "I'm supposed to watch you at all times, you know."

"You're not watching me in the bath, Malfoy," Hermione said, still calmly.

"You're not bathing then," Draco said matter-of-factly. "I promised Snape, and he'll know if I'm lying."

"No good at Occlumency, are you?" Hermione asked glibly. Draco scowled at her, but twin spots of color appeared in his cheeks.

"As if you are," he snarled.

"Oh, but you're a _pureblood_, Malfoy – don't those sort of things come easily to you?" She didn't know why she was doing this, didn't know why she was provoking him, unless it was for the same subconscious reason Draco had made his Mudblood comment: she was terrified of the situation and wished more than anything that she were back at Hogwarts.

"Shut up, Granger," Draco hissed. "Shut up, or I'll - " He stopped.

"You'll do what?" Hermione goaded. "Curse me? Send for your father? Refuse to give me my potion?"

She was being reckless, she knew, provoking him, but she needed to know where the line was. There were a few habits she'd picked up from seven years of being best friends with Ron and Harry.

"No," Draco said, clearly struggling to calm his voice. "I've got something better than that."

He stood up, gathered up the chess set and Gobstones and Exploding Snap cards, carried them to the dresser, and placed them there.

"I was assigned to watch you, Granger; I wasn't assigned to do anything else. These games," he gestured, then with a smirk opened a drawer to reveal, "these books, these quills and parchment – I could keep them all for myself and let you sit there and rot."

He drew closer and leaned in so that his nose was only centimeters from hers. "These are the crucial days, Granger – you know that, don't you? If you want to get your mind back to the way it used to be, you need to use it: you need these Gobstones like a poisoned man needs a bezoar. I was assigned to keep you alive, but if you end up as stupid as Longbottom and as loony as Lovegood, well, that's none of my concern, is it?"

He drew back, sat down, and smiled smugly. "So, Granger, what will it be: boredom or a supervised bath?"

"And I thought you said Mudbloods were the feral ones," Hermione said, trying not to show how much his threat had frightened her.

Draco flushed again. "I don't want to see you naked, Granger – Merlin forbid. I thought I was getting off lightly when Snape gave me this punishment; I see I underestimated him."

Now it was Hermione's turn to flush, but in anger, not embarrassment. He had no right to talk about her – to objectify her – in that way! And besides, she might not be Parvati Patil, but she knew she wasn't bad-looking – Viktor Krum had chosen her to take to the Yule Ball, after all.

"Good, we're agreed, then," she said curtly. "How about this – I'll leave the door ajar. That way you'll hear if I'm trying to escape down the drain."

"That's not what they're worried about," Draco said.

It took Hermione a moment to realize what he was talking about. "I'm not going to drown myself!" she said, surprised. "What would I want to do that for?"

"Oh, I don't know – to avoid being interrogated and tortured by the Dark Lord?" Draco said sarcastically.

"Malfoy, I'm a Gryffindor," Hermione said scathingly. "And Gryffindors don't give up."

"We'll see about that," Draco said. It was strange the way he said it: it wasn't a threat, simply a reminder of what she was going to face.

Hermione looked away. "We'll see," she agreed quietly.

An uncomfortable pause.

"How about this," Draco said finally. "We'll leave the door open, and I'll shout to you every couple of minutes."

"Fine," Hermione said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Now I'll need some clothes, and a towel." She swung her legs out of bed and stood up.

And promptly fell over. Draco caught her by the armpits before she hit the ground and unceremoniously lifted her back to the bed. "I don't think you're quite up to that yet," Draco said, and walked over to the dresser.

He opened a drawer full of what seemed to be Muggle clothes, though as Draco lifted out a bundle of clothing, she realized that they were like no Muggle clothes she was familiar with. Scolding herself mentally, she looked down at her nightgown, and was not surprised to notice the strangely Victorian style, the yellowing lace at her neckline and sleeves. Sure, she'd noticed what she was wearing, but she hadn't given it more than a passing thought. Draco was right: she needed those Gobstones.

"Well, this won't help with your walking problem, but if you're insisting on clean clothes," Draco said in a long-suffering tone, holding up a mess of pink frills.

Hermione made a face. "What else is in those drawers?"

Draco opened another one and hauled out yards and yards of blue silk. He held it up, and Hermione could see it was a dress with a humongous skirt and puffed sleeves. Draco let it fall to the floor.

"I think the other drawer is undergarments," he commented as he began to haul out something blue and ruffled.

"Let me see," Hermione said, slowly sliding off the bed. She held on to the bedside table as she waited for her vision to still. "I'm the one wearing it, after all."

Draco looked about to protest, but instead sighed and went to her side. He took her elbow and carefully helped her over to the dresser, quick to catch her the four times she almost fell. If she hadn't been worrying about the shakiness of her legs, she might have been able to ascertain his motives. As it was, when she finally reached the dresser, the only thing she was concentrating on was her intense hatred for Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Well, here you are; pick something out already," Draco said finally, annoyed, and Hermione turned her attention to the full drawers.

The only positive thing to say about the clothes was that at least they didn't smell - household spells had prevented that. However, the clothes were all bulky, lacy, and overly flounced – and had been made for a much taller woman than Hermione. Even the chemises and petticoats seemed as if they would pool at her feet, complicating what Draco had called her "walking problem."

Finally, Hermione found a chemise with lines of eyelet embroidery making up the skirt from the knee down. Newly liberated blue ribbons from a nightgown helped her shorten the hemline to a few inches below her knees, and while the result would never have been fashionable, at least the dress wouldn't impede her movements.

"Where did all these clothes come from?" Hermione asked to distract Draco as she shifted through the petticoats and chemises in search of some version of a bra and clean underwear.

"My great-grandmother, I think," Draco said, bored. "Apparently my mother and her sisters used to love dressing up in them, so she won't throw them out."

"She misses Andromeda?" Hermione guessed absentmindedly as she added the shortest pair of bloomers (which still seemed as if they would end at the knee) to the puddle of her "new dress."

Draco glared at her. "No."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Hermione berated herself again. What had Bellatrix done to her mind? She was acting completely wrong – where was her sense of strategy? For a moment there she had almost forgotten who Draco was, and she could not afford to do that.

She added some sort of vest/bodice/corselet combination to her pile, gathered the clothes together, and stood up.

"Well, I'm taking a bath now," she announced, and took a step with one shaky leg. Draco was again immediately at her side, holding her arm with a grip that belied his annoyed expression. He didn't speak, however, simply walked her into the bathroom and deposited her on the toilet.

"I suppose I have to run the bath for you too," he grumbled. "Honestly, Granger, you're worse than a first-year."

Hermione bit back a retort and instead simply watched Draco as he turned on the taps and opened a cupboard to remove some towels, a washcloth, and a bar of soap.

"No shampoo," he complained as he pulled out a dusty bottle of what must have been conditioner. "The house-elves have been slacking."

By the time Draco had summoned Derry and the elf had reappeared with a bottle of shampoo, the bath was full. Draco turned to Hermione.

"Well," he said. "Don't drown yourself. I'll be leaving the door open, like we agreed, and you'll remind me periodically that you're still breathing."

"Okay," Hermione said, and Draco left. True to his word, he left the door ajar, but since Hermione couldn't see him through the crack no matter where she stood, she figured that he wasn't spying on her. Still, when she did undress it was as quickly as possible and with her back to the door. She knew it was stupid; she hadn't been this self-conscious since she was thirteen. If she wanted to psychoanalyze herself she'd say that it was because of Lucius Malfoy, but she'd like to think even her subconscious wouldn't let him get the better of her.

Anyway, she wouldn't think about that now. She stepped into the tub and slid under, reveling in the luxurious warmth of the water. She hadn't had a bath in – well, she honestly didn't remember, but she had an inkling that whatever she had been doing with Ron and Harry, it didn't involve close proximity to proper plumbing.

"Alive in there, Granger?" Draco called a second after Hermione had surfaced, and she yelled back in the affirmative. Merlin, this was going to be annoying, wasn't it. She couldn't even be alone while bathing.

Still, she was reluctant to hurry, even as Draco's tone became increasingly annoyed. The bath was cathartic, washing away the dirt and worries from the past year. She would never have thought that she could feel so peaceful in the Death Eaters' headquarters. She could even imagine learning to enjoy her amnesia if it weren't for the nagging feeling that she was supposed to be doing something important. Where had she been going when she was captured, and why had she been alone?

It was unsettling to think about the missing memories, and besides, the water was growing cold, so Hermione ended her bath, dressed in her "new" clothes, and returned to her temporary home and to Draco, who was by now sounding downright impatient, not to mention slightly angry. What did he think she could be doing in there? The bathroom – not to mention the adjoining room - was positively spartan. Still, she had managed to escape once before, if only to the grounds.

Her mother's voice rang in her head, repeating an old saying from her childhood. _If at first you don't succeed, try, try again._ Warm bath and comfortable bed aside, she was a prisoner, and she couldn't let herself forget that. She would find her way out of here, or she would die trying.

* * *

_Review please?_


	9. Draconian Dreams

_Last Chapter:_

Her mother's voice rang in her head, repeating an old saying from her childhood. _If at first you don't succeed, try, try again._ Warm bath and comfortable bed aside, she was a prisoner, and she couldn't let herself forget that. She would find her way out of here, or she would die trying.

* * *

**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Nine: Draconian Dreams**

"Took you long enough," Draco said as Hermione closed the bathroom door behind her. Hermione only shrugged and made her way unsteadily back to the bed. Draco sighed and came to help her when she stumbled and had to grab on to the bathroom doorframe to keep standing.

"Do you have a comb?" Hermione asked. Draco did (of course); Hermione did her best to ignore the smug expression on his face as she attempted to work out the tangles. It didn't help that her arms were still weak enough that she had to stop to rest every few minutes.

While she was still brushing her hair, Draco handed her a phial of the murky green potion; apparently Derry had arrived with a supply while she was in the bath. "Test it first," Hermione demanded, and though Draco rolled his eyes at her, he took a tiny sip.

"It's fine, nothing added," he announced, and when Hermione continued to scrutinize him, added, "Granger, how can you think I'm lying about being under Veritaserum?"

He had a point there; with a small smile (she loved those sort of paradoxes), Hermione downed the potion. And immediately felt her eyelids start to droop.

"I lied," Draco said, smirking, though almost good-naturedly. "I slipped in a Sleeping Draught."

Hermione wanted to yell at him, to protest, but her mind was fogging quickly and soon she was asleep.

"_They've added Gemino and Flagrante Curses! Everything you touch will burn and multiply."_

"_Okay, don't touch anything! Just look around! Remember, the cup's small and gold, it's got a badger engraved on it, two handles – or look for something of Ravenclaw's, her symbol's the eagle - "_

"_Yes, Harry, we know!" shrieked Hermione as she pulled Ron out of the way of the still-multiplying goblet Bill had touched. "We're looking!"_

"_There – there it is!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand at the top of a tier of gold, casting a spotlight on a small golden cup._

"_Accio Cup!" Hermione said, but her wand wasn't working, it wasn't working, it had never failed her before – _

"_The sword! Hermione, the sword!" Harry shouted, and she fumbled inside her robes and into her beaded clutch, found the sword, and handed it to Harry across a fast-growing barrier of multiplying Galleons. She cut her hand in the process and before she could wrap it in her robes, a few drops of red fell onto the multiplying gold Galleons and an acrid smell filled the room._

_A horrible, horrible noise that she hadn't heard since fourth year but would never forget: a dragon's roar. "Harry!" she screamed, and he had it, he had the cup, but the door was open and the goblins were coming in and the treasure was multiplying and she was burning and then the dragon was there, close enough that she could feel the heat from its nostrils, worse even than the white-hot burning of the treasure, and the dragon was looking at Ron, it was opening its mouth, Ron was going to die and she was going to die and they were all going to die, why hadn't she ever told him, it was too late now, it was all over, Voldemort had won..._

_A horrible roar and a jet of fire and screaming, hers or Ron's or Bill's or Harry's she didn't know, they were dead, they were all dead…_

She sat up with a jolt, adrenaline still rushing through her veins. The white-hot pain of the multiplied Galleons had become a less urgent ache, though it still engulfed her whole body. For a moment she didn't know where she was, then her eyes adjusted to the darkened room and she caught sight of the figure slumped over her bed. He was sitting in the chair next to her, and his head was resting on his crossed arms, which were resting on her bed. She took a bottle of her potion out of the nightstand drawer and downed it in one. Instead of lying back down, however, she sat watching him, trying to quiet her breathing and calm the racing of her heart. Under her gaze, Draco sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

"Nightmare, Granger?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Yes," Hermione said. "There was a dragon," she added stupidly.

Draco blinked once, twice. "Gringotts?" he asked sleepily. "Because someone broke into the Lestrange vault nearly two months ago, and we never caught who did it…something went missing, something valuable, but I don't know what it is."

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to answer in the affirmative, then stopped herself. If her dream had been of the Lestrange vault – and it was, she was somehow sure of it – then her memories weren't completely gone. And if her memories weren't completely gone, Voldemort could still get to them. And if Draco knew her memories weren't completely gone, he could tell Voldemort.

"No," Hermione said finally. "No, it was the first task. The Hungarian Horntail."

Draco looked at her blearily, but he was tired enough that Hermione couldn't read his emotions – if he believed her, if he didn't, if he realized his mistake in telling her about the Lestrange vault - she couldn't tell. She had never seen a sleepy Draco Malfoy before, and if she'd been anywhere else she would have laughed. His normally sleek white-blond hair was so tousled that it resembled Harry's, his eyes seemed to be permanently half-closed, and a spot of drool was shining on the side of his mouth.

Hermione lay back down. "I want a Dreamless Sleep Potion," she demanded, and Draco, too tired to argue, acquiesced and called Derry. She made him test the potion, and he was already snoring softly when she lay back down and sank into a blissful darkness devoid of any dreams or memories.

* * *

When Hermione awoke the next morning, Draco was his usual composed self: hair perfectly combed, clothes new and seemingly freshly ironed, face completely devoid of drool. Hermione had the mental picture to cherish, however – placed in a mental frame between fourth-year Ferret Draco and third-year Punched Draco – so she smiled smugly at her private joke when, after uncorking and testing her potion, Draco began asking pointed questions such as, "Fall asleep quickly, Granger?" and "You were out like a _Nox_ed wand last night, are you sure you're quite well?"

"Do you usually wake up at the crack of dawn to do your hair, Malfoy, or were you practicing your Harry Potter impression last night?" Hermione replied. Draco rose to the challenge.

"_Some_ of us know how to control our hair, Granger – something you obviously still haven't learned."

Hermione winced at that and brought her hands to her head in an attempt to make her hair presentable, but she still managed a comeback. "Obviously you haven't seen too many girls in the morning, Malfoy – this is what happens when you sleep on long hair."

He smirked at that. "Not all of us feel the need to keep Rita Skeeter up-to-date on our love lives – speaking of which, since Krum, she's been oddly silent about yours; too busy holding a torch for Weasley to kiss any other boys?"

Never mind that Draco's assumption was true (with the single exception of Cormac McLaggen, which she'd rather forget); Hermione smiled wickedly. "She's been silent about me for a rather different reason. I'd tell you, but I'd be breaking a professional agreement."

Draco chortled. "_Professional agreement –_ Granger, you can't seriously expect me to believe that you're blackmailing Skeeter!"

"Believe what you want," Hermione said nonchalantly, still finger-combing her hair. "But I'm sure you've realized by now that even Gryffindors have their Slytherin moments."

Draco studied her; he seemed to be considering something. "What's this story worth?" he asked finally. "I'll trade for it. How about your favorite breakfast?"

Hermione tilted her head to one side. "I did make an agreement….but tell me, has Skeeter been defaming Harry recently? That was one of our terms, and I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up."

"Designed the latest _Wanted _poster herself," Draco said breezily. "Black-and-white except for Potter's eyes. I hear the Weaselette's had it framed."

"Well," Hermione said slowly. "I'll tell you – but you have to promise to answer five questions."

The room fell silent as Hermione and Draco stared at each other. Hermione was asking for something much more important than blueberry pancakes. They always seemed to come back to this: happily falling back into their petty schoolyard insults until one of them remembered that this war was so much more than Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.

"I'll can't answer if I've been forbidden to tell," Draco said after a moment. "And I'll only answer one."

"Four."

"Two."

They glared at each other, neither wanting to concede to three.

"Fine," Hermione sighed finally. It wasn't as if the Death Eaters could use the information about Rita Skeeter to further their takeover of the Ministry; she supposed they could Imperius her to spy on anyone they didn't already have answering to them, but Pettigrew could already do that job, and he didn't need to be Imperiused. "Three."

They shook on it.

"You go first," Draco demanded.

"Okay," Hermione said. "Why couldn't I get over your hedge?"

"You have to be Marked to get in or out," Draco said immediately. "Next."

"What charms and curses are on the door to this room?"

"I don't know," Draco said.

"Who else is a prisoner here?"

Draco stayed silent for a moment, contemplative.

"If you haven't been ordered not to tell, you have to answer," Hermione reminded him. "You agreed."

"Mundungus Fletcher, Susan Bones, and two stupid Mudblood Ministry workers who wouldn't go into hiding: Croaker and MacDougal," Draco said reluctantly.

"Susan?" Hermione repeated, horrified. "What do they want with her?"

"That's three questions, Granger, time's up," Draco said coldly. "My turn. Tell."

"I found out that Rita Skeeter's is an unregistered Animagus – but you know that, don't you. Well, I caught her after the Third Task in the Hospital Wing and wouldn't let her go until she'd agreed to my terms," Hermione said, sounding as if she were reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or describing the wand movements for a Cheering Charm instead of regaling an exciting story of her own heroism.

Draco nodded once. His eyes glinted dangerously, but he stayed silent.

"Have they hurt her?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Draco paused, looked away. "That was three questions," he said finally. His voice sounded almost hollow.

Hermione blinked twice, trying to keep back tears. She wasn't close to Susan, but they were in the same year and had always had classes together. They had become friendly in the DA and in Ancient Runes, and during one intense study session last year they had giggled and reminisced about Professor Lockhart, who had been their mutual first crush.

She had heard on _Potterwatch _that Susan's father had been caught helping Muggle-borns go into hiding, but had Stunned the Aurors sent to arrest him and gone into hiding. Hermione had supposed that Susan had gone on the run with the rest of her family; if she had, and Susan was a prisoner here, it was likely that the rest of them had been killed. Hermione tried not to think about her own parents, blissfully unaware of the war raging around them as they continued to put in fillings and remove wisdom teeth.

"I'll order breakfast," Draco said. "Do you still need help getting to the toilet?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said, but stumbled not three steps away from the bed. Draco took her elbow and walked her to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind her.

Apparently his orders to watch Hermione at all times didn't apply when Draco was angry with her. That was good to know, Hermione mused as she brushed her teeth (Derry had brought a toothbrush and toothpaste up with the shampoo yesterday). Maybe she could provoke him enough to get him to storm out of the room, and then she could –

_Make a mad dash for the front door?_ Hermione's inner voice was sarcastic. _Try to fly out the window and over the fence?_

She was stuck here, for the moment at least. She had exhausted all her resources; the only thing she could do was wait for an opportunity and be ready to take it. There was no library, no school full of professors, no Order members or even other students she could mine for information. There were only herself and Draco – and although had managed to get him to let a few things slip, she knew that after this he would be more wary.

Hermione glared at her pale-faced, frizzy-haired reflection in the mirror. She looked worse than she had even in the days after the fight Department of Mysteries, when she was recovering from Dolohov's curse. She felt a sudden impulse to break the mirror. Instead, she untied one of the ribbons on the bottom of her dress, tied her hair back, and looked at her reflection grimly. She was Hermione Granger, top of her class at Hogwarts, cofounder of Dumbledore's Army and best friend to Harry Potter. She would get out of here.


	10. Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests

_Last Chapter:_

She was Hermione Granger, top of her class at Hogwarts, cofounder of Dumbledore's Army and best friend to Harry Potter. She would get out of here.

* * *

**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Ten: Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests**

Thanks to her mental pep talk, Hermione managed to make it back to her bed without falling, although once she reached it, she felt as if she had just run a marathon. Draco was sitting in his usual chair, munching a piece of toast while immersed in _The Study of Ancient Runes. _He didn't look up when she stumbled back to bed, breathing heavily. A stack of seventh-year textbooks lay on the bedside table next to tray of toast and tea, and Hermione felt a joyous rush at the sight of those books, the books she had reluctantly given up when she decided to join Ron and Harry instead of completing her seventh year.

Suddenly Draco's snit didn't matter. She picked up _Advanced Arithmancy _and turned to the introduction.

Soon Hermione found another reason to hate Bellatrix Lestrange and the other Death Eaters: one of the effects of being exposed to a prolonged Cruciatus was difficulty in focusing her vision. She couldn't read for more than ten minutes without getting a splitting headache. Finally she could bear it no more and shut the book. She was massaging her temples, trying to lessen the pounding behind her eyes, when Draco spoke.

"Snape says no Headache Draught," he said. "And I'm about sick of Ancient Runes. Gobstones, do you think?"

Hermione groaned. "I never want to see another Gobstone in my life," she said, and Draco laughed, surprised.

"Okay," he said. "How about…." he turned to the table and picked up _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven, _"…we see if you've managed to keep up with your class while on the run."

She'd learned all the spells in the _Standard _series by the end of her fourth year, when she'd been searching for anything that could help Harry in the Triwizard Tournament. Draco didn't know that, though, and quizzing would be a welcome change from the endless games of Gobstones and wizard's chess.

"Here's a good place to start," Draco said, flicking through the pages. "Tell me, how do you cast a Memory Charm?"

* * *

Hermione had nearly finished reciting the _Standard Book of Spells _when, after asking for the procedure for casting an Age Line, Draco suddenly hissed and grabbed his left forearm.

Hermione fell silent in the middle of describing the different shapes in which one could draw an Age Line. Draco's face was ghostly white and screwed up in agony. His eyes were shut and he seemed to be holding his breath. His expression reminded Hermione of Harry's when his scar was hurting him.

"Malfoy?" she asked finally.

"Shut up," he muttered, his eyes still screwed shut. Finally, after nearly five minutes, he let go of his arm. His face was still paler than usual, though, and both hands were balled into fists. Hermione guessed that his Dark Mark was still hurting him.

_How did the Dark Mark work, exactly? _Could Death Eaters communicate with each other through them, or only with Voldemort? Could Death Eaters hurt each other like this? Based on the rivalry she'd already seen between Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, it seemed unlikely. But that meant that…

"Was that – was that You-Know-Who?" she ventured finally.

Draco glared at her, then his features relaxed slightly and he let out a humorless laugh. "You're too smart for your own good, Granger," he said. "And mine," he added under his breath.

"The Veritaserum," Hermione deduced. Draco shot her a look that was part surprise, part anger, and part grudging admiration. He nodded once.

Hermione started to open her mouth, then paused. What would she say? _I'm sorry? _She wasn't. _Are you okay? _He clearly wasn't, and wouldn't appreciate her asking him, either. _How does the Dark Mark work, anyway? _As if, after this, he needed another reason not to tell her anything. _What does it feel like to have Voldemort in your head? _It made her shudder to even think the question.

"Do you ever think we're too young for this?" she said instead, surprising both Draco and herself.

"Of course," Draco said, nonplussed. "We should be worrying about our N.E.W.T.s, not fighting a war."

"I know it's worth it," Hermione said, still talking without thinking, "But sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't become friends with Harry."

"You'd be dead," Draco said bluntly. "Because I know you would have ignored the new laws against Mudbloods and gone back to Hogwarts."

"Do they kill the students they catch there?" Hermione asked, shocked. She thought of Lavender Brown, of Dean Thomas, of Justin Finch-Fletchley, of the Creevey brothers. She was suddenly finding it very difficult to breathe.

"They're ordered to," Draco said. "But they haven't caught anyone yet. Most of the Mudbloods were smart and didn't show up, and the ones that did – nearly all Gryffindors, of course – managed to get themselves tacked onto someone else's family tree. The Weasleys have something like five new cousins this year."

Hermione didn't know whether to be glad that Lavender and the Creeveys were safe or to be horrified that the Weasleys had placed themselves in even more danger. At this point, it didn't make a difference, she knew – with six family members known members of the Order of the Phoenix, another Harry Potter's best friend and another his ex-girlfriend, they were already constantly in "mortal peril," as Mrs. Weasley's clock reminded them. But the thought of any of the Weasleys, even Percy, in her position made her want to cry.

"Well, they are a big family," she said instead.

"And apparently Lavender Brown's part of it," Draco said wryly. "I didn't know they were so incestuous."

"Well, of course, all the good pureblood families are," Hermione said, beginning to recover from her shock.

"As if you'd know, Mudblood," Draco sneered.

"Just because I'm Muggle-born doesn't mean I can't _read_," Hermione said, rising to the challenge.

"Doesn't it?" Draco said, faking surprise. "Yet here I am, reading to you." He held up _The Standard Book of Spells._

"Oh, give it here," Hermione said, laughing in spite of herself. "I can read well enough to test you."

* * *

The rest of the day passed quickly as Hermione and Draco quizzed their way through _Expert Transfiguration _and began _Advanced Potion-Making, _interspersed with games of wizard's chess and Exploding Snap (both of which Hermione consistently lost, but less badly each time). While Hermione was quizzing him, Draco's right hand occasionally wandered to his left forearm, and Hermione knew that his Mark was still aching. The pain didn't seem to affect his mood, however; although he made a few snide comments about Mudbloods and blood traitors, he didn't refuse to taste test her meals or help her walk around the room. Which meant, Hermione mused as she lay in bed that night, that Draco was used to this sort of pain.

Some part of her noted that she was feeling sorry for Draco because she was too frightened to think about her own future, but Hermione ignored that voice – it was the only way she could fall asleep.

* * *

She made it through the night without waking up in pain, although she ached something terrible when she awoke and could barely sit up to drink her potion. She found, too, that she could walk to the bathroom by herself: although her legs were shaky and unsteady, she didn't once fall. In the face of her apparent progress, it was becoming increasingly hard to ignore her coming fate.

After Draco returned from the bathroom, she asked, "When am I going to die?"

Draco froze for a moment; then, he slowly sat down. "Snape's coming tomorrow morning to check on your progress. If you're well enough, you'll be interrogated that evening."

"Okay," Hermione said quietly, blinking back tears. She had resolved to get away, she knew, but with each passing hour, escape seemed less and less likely. The way that Draco occasionally gripped his left forearm, the way that Derry arrived with trays of food at 12:00 and 6:00 exactly, and the dwindling supply of her potion all indicated that she was being closely watched. Still, she had to try.

"You won't be killed tomorrow," Draco said in what Hermione supposed was meant to be a comforting tone; in fact, it had the opposite effect. "At least, not on purpose. You'll be used as bait for Potter."

"But that's even worse," Hermione said blankly. Draco shrugged and looked away.

"I can't do anything about it," he said. "Now, are you going to tell me how to make Polyjuice Potion or are you going to sit there feeling sorry for yourself?"

_VOLDEMORT is going to torture me tomorrow! I have a right to feel sorry for myself! _Hermione thought defensively, but she lay back down on her pillow and forced her thoughts back to second year. "First, you stew the lacewing flies for twenty-one days, then you add the powdered bicorn horn while stirring counterclockwise…"

* * *

They quizzed and played chess and Exploding Snap throughout the day, but despite the similarity of activities, this day was very different from the day before. Hermione didn't gloat when Draco got a wrong answer, and Draco didn't once make a snide comment about why Hermione spent all her time studying. And while she was listlessly reciting curses and countercurses, Hermione was planning. When Draco went to the bathroom before dinner, she seized her chance and poured her sleeping potion into his pumpkin juice. One sip and he was fast asleep.

Hermione quickly slid out of bed and made her way over to the bedroom door. She turned the doorknob, pushed the door, and tried to shove an Exploding Snap card in the crack between the door and the doorframe. It didn't budge. She could tell the door was powerfully warded; maybe if she'd had a wand, she could have opened it, but as it was…

"Alohomora," she said. "Confringo. Finite Incantatem."

Nothing happened. Wandless magic was considered virtually impossible; few wizards could manage more than the most basic of spells without a wand, and she hadn't performed any uncontrolled magic since her first year at Hogwarts. She would have to do this another way.

Glancing sidelong at Draco, who was still sleeping soundly, Hermione leaned against the wall. If she'd had a wand she would have blasted a hole through the wall, but even at her strongest Hermione had no hope of tearing through it. Unless…

Hermione surveyed the bedroom. The heaviest thing seemed to be a bronze lamp on the table next to her bed. Careful not to disturb Draco, she slowly walked over to him, lifted the lamp, and brought it to the bathroom. She closed the door, knowing already that there was no lock; if Draco awoke, she could not keep him from stopping her. She had precious little time.

Hermione removed the lampshade and magical light bulb from the almost Victorian base, then lifted the lamp. It was heavy, but would it be heavy enough? Well, there was nothing for it – she had no other option. She lifted the lamp over her shoulder and, with all her strength, slammed it into the wall. The plaster cracked and a few flakes floated to the floor. Hermione lifted the lamp again.

Three hits later, there was a gouge barely a centimeter deep in the wall. It was hopeless, but she couldn't give up. Breathing heavily, she slammed the lamp into the wall again and again, for hours and hours, until her arms were weak and rubbery and she could barely lift them, let alone the lamp.

She couldn't give up. She had to get out of here.

Half-sobbing, Hermione tore into the gouge with her fingernails, attempting to claw her way through the plaster. The hole was nearly to her second knuckle when she heard a knock at the door.

"Granger?"

"Don't come in!" she shouted frantically, tearing at the wall. Draco didn't listen. Hermione heard the door open but didn't turn to look; she was getting there, she was getting closer – how thick could these walls be, anyway?

She hard Draco's feet pound on the tile floor and a second later felt his hands on her arms, pulling her away from the wall.

"Granger."

She turned, striking out at him, but he only wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she hopelessly kicked at his ankles and slammed her head against his chest. He dragged her back to the bed and sat, pulling her down next to him. His arms were wrapped around her like a living straightjacket.

"Granger," he said again, sounding not angry but frustrated. "What were you doing?"

"I had to try," Hermione gasped, sobbing. "I had to try."

Sometime during her sobbing fit Draco's straightjacket hold might have become an embrace. She was never sure of it, though, because just as she was beginning to regain her composure, she heard a familiar oily voice.

"What are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?" said Snape.

* * *

**_Please review!_**


	11. From Bad To Worse

_Last Chapter:_

Sometime during her sobbing fit Draco's straightjacket hold might have become an embrace. She was never sure of it, though, because just as she was beginning to regain her composure, she heard a familiar oily voice.

"What are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?" said Snape.

* * *

**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Eleven: From Bad To Worse**

Draco dropped his arms and sprang up off the bed as if she burned him. "She was trying to break through the wall," he said quickly. "I was restraining her. Sir."

"Indeed," Snape sneered. "Where?"

Draco pointed. Through the open bathroom door Hermione could clearly see a pathetic mess of dust, the evidence of her second escape attempt.

"Granger, I expected better from you," Snape said derisively, then turned to Draco. "Has she had her potion yet?"

"Not since last night," Draco said. Hermione looked at the clock on the wall over the dresser: it read 3:20. This was what Snape considered morning?

"Well," said Snape impatiently. Draco picked up a bottle of murky green liquid from where it lay under the bed and handed it to Hermione. Under Snape's beady glare, she drank it.

Snape pulled a small black bag from his robes and upended it on the bedspread. A stethoscope, thermometer, Muggle torch, and other medical instruments fell out. It was time for another physical.

Snape didn't say anything as he examined her, and after he had closed his bag he turned back to Hermione. "Show me your hands," he said. Hermione obediently extended them. They were dirty and bleeding and almost all her nails were cracked.

"_Episky_," Snape said, tapping first one hand, then the other, with his wand. As the pain disappeared, Hermione nearly cried in disappointment. It was safe to use magic on her again.

"Derry," Snape called, and the wizened house elf appeared with a bow. "Fetch me a Dreamless Sleep potion."

_No! _Hermione thought. She had less than a day left to live, and Snape was going to force her to sleep through it? She wouldn't let him, she couldn't.

"I won't take it," Hermione said when Derry reappeared and Snape handed the bottle to her.

Snape raised his wand. "Imperio."

Again, she couldn't help it; she was pulled under by the calming voice in her head. _Drink the potion._

_I shouldn't, _she thought feebly, but her body didn't listen: she picked up the bottle, drained it, and fell backwards onto the bed, unconscious.

* * *

Several hours later, Hermione suddenly awoke to see a wand pointed between her eyes. Frightened, she looked up past the wand to its bearer: Lucius Malfoy. But she hadn't she snapped his wand?

"Get up," Lucius said. Hermione obeyed, still half-asleep. She caught a glimpse of Draco standing near the door, his right hand gripping his left forearm.

Hermione winced as Lucius jabbed his wand into her back. "Go," he said, and rather than submit to another Imperius Curse, Hermione obeyed. As she walked out the door, Draco fell into step beside her. Hermione glanced sideways at him, but he was looking determinedly ahead.

More to distract herself than out of any real hope for escape, Hermione paid careful attention to the route they took: through three corridors, down two flights of stairs, past countless locked doors and several open ones, through which Hermione caught glimpses of ornate furniture and, in one, bookshelves: a library. The walls were lined with portraits of Malfoys through the ages, nearly all with the characteristic blond hair, gray eyes, and pale skin. _Do they marry blondes on purpose to keep the family look going? _Hermione wondered; Narcissa's coloring matched the Malfoys' perfectly, despite the fact that she was a Black by birth.

Draco finally stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor that contained the library. He hesitated for a moment, looking past Hermione at his father, then turned the knob and opened the door.

Hermione caught her breath in fear, only to let it out a moment later. The room was empty but for five people huddled together near an ornate fireplace, in which a small fire was burning. At the center of the room was a long wooden table lined with various armchairs. There were several lamps, end tables, and an empty bookshelf pushed up against the wall. The room seemed to have once been some sort of parlor or drawing room. But now, with that long table and the gigantic throne-like armchair at its head, it could only be used for one thing.

Either the carpet had absorbed the smell of blood and death, or Hermione was imagining it. Either way, this room gave her the creeps. She wanted out.

Lucius jabbed his wand into her back, and Hermione obediently walked forward towards the figures at the fireplace. A few of them glanced over to look at the intruders, and Hermione recognized the rat-like face of Peter Pettigrew. She gave him her best glare and he looked away skittishly.

"Put the Mudblood in the corner with the others," said a man Hermione recognized as Rabastan Lestrange. "Draco can keep an eye on them."

"I'll – I'll need my wand back," Draco said. Rabastan withdrew a wand from his robes.

"Take this one," he said. "It's the girl's."

But the wand Draco took was too long to be Hermione's. Whose was it then?

Gesturing with the wand, Draco directed Hermione to a far corner. Set back as it was from the fireplace, Hermione didn't notice the shadowed figures hovering in the darkened corner until she was halfway across the room. All four figures had their hands bound in front of them and their feet were dangling several inches from the ground. As Draco and Hermione drew nearer, three of the figures glanced at her; the fourth seemed to be unconscious.

"Draco!" Rabastan called. Draco glanced at him but didn't speak. "Tie the Mudblood up or I'll do it for you."

Draco turned to Hermione, not looking at her. He flicked his wand and Hermione felt her hands forced together and bound by a thin but strong silver rope.

"_Wingardium leviosa,"_ Draco muttered, swishing his wand, and Hermione was lifted a few inches off the ground so that she was face-to-face with the other prisoners.

"Susan?" Hermione gasped, finally recognizing the Hufflepuff.

Draco had told her that Susan Bones was a captive too, but Hermione hadn't suspected that she would be at the Death Eater gathering. That meant that Mundungus Fletcher should be there as well: and he was, pretending to stare at the Death Eaters at the fire while looking at her sidelong. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Hermione noticed that Mundungus looked the least worse for wear of the four prisoners. Susan, on the other hand, had blood on her robes and her face was a mess of bruises.

"What happened to you?" Hermione said. Susan moved her mouth, forming words, but no sound came out. She had been Silenced.

"Draco? Please?" Hermione whispered, failing to keep her request from sounding more like a plea. Draco glanced up at her. "I can't," he said shortly, then went back to staring at his feet.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered to Susan. "Er, hi. I wish we weren't meeting here." Susan smiled and nodded, but with her too-bright eyes the smile only looked tragic.

Not knowing what else to say, Hermione fell silent and watched the door. As she watched, she moved slowly and quietly, testing the limits of Draco's spell. She found that, if she swayed or leaned far enough, she could move a few inches forward or backward, left or right, but not more than that.

The room slowly filled. Hermione recognized Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Dolohov, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, and the elder Nott among other Death Eaters who came to join the group at the fire. Most of the Death Eaters gave her only the most cursory of glances as they entered, but Bellatrix grinned at Hermione before turning away to talk to Rabastan.

As time went on, the room slowly filled with quiet talking, broken only by Bellatrix's occasional shrill laughter. Some Death Eaters move to sit at the long wooden table, while others gathered in groups throughout the room. Eventually, the arrivals trickled to a halt; it must have been nearly ten minutes since anyone entered, so Hermione assumed that they were waiting only for Voldemort. All together the group numbered less than thirty. This, then, was Voldemort's inner circle. In a desperate attempt to avoid panic or despair, Hermione studied each face so she could pick them out of a line-up when this was all over.

Hermione had thought the group was complete, but when the door opened it was Snape who entered, not Voldemort. Snape's robes billowed in such a way that Hermione was forcibly reminded of the way he patrolled the hallways at Hogwarts. She glanced at Susan and forced a smile. "He looks even more like an overgrown bat now, don't you think?" she whispered.

Susan's lips began to turn upwards into a smile but suddenly fell as her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Hermione turned to follow Susan's gaze, expecting Voldemort to have finally entered the room, but instead she saw a grotesquely huge snake, large enough to swallow a full-grown man whole. Nagini paused just inside the doorway to hiss; her tongue shot out, tasting the air.

Something twinged inside Hermione at the sight of the snake. There was something important about Nagini, something she needed to remember…squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione concentrated hard, trying to come up with the answer. Nagini had attacked Mr. Weasley, she knew, and almost killed him – but that wasn't it.

It hit her with a startling clarity: it didn't matter what she was supposed to know about Nagini; it was what she was supposed to do about it that she needed to remember. And she knew, somehow, inexplicably, that the most important thing was to kill the snake.

If she had stopped to think about it – why she needed to kill the snake, how she was going to get a wand – she never would have been able to do it. But, for once in her life, Hermione acted purely on instinct. She stared at the wand Draco was holding loosely, reached out her bound hands, and whispered, "Accio."

As much to Hermione's surprise as Draco's, the wand flew out of Draco's hand and into Hermione's. "_Finite Incantatem!" _Hermione said as soon as the she registered the feeling of the wand in her hands, and she fell to the ground, her hands loose. The room was filled with shouts as the Death Eaters began to realize what was happening.

Still acting on instinct, Hermione pointed her wand at Nagini, and said, _"Avada kedevra!"_

At the first syllable, the room erupted with light. Almost as soon as the spell had left her lips, Hermione was hit with a Disarming Charm and her wand flew out of her hand. A Leg-Locker Curse and three sets of silver ropes quickly followed. A jet of purple light hit the Killing Curse she had cast, redirecting it to an empty chair, which was immediately decimated when the curse hit. Nagini hissed angrily and slithered towards Hermione, ready to strike.

And suddenly, the room fell into complete silence. Even Nagini stopped hissing and paused as if hit by a Freezing Charm. It took all of Hermione's Gryffindor bravery to force herself to look up. In the doorway stood a man – no, not a man, he couldn't be: his face looked like nothing Hermione had ever seen or could ever imagine on a living creature.

Lord Voldemort had arrived.


	12. Lord Voldemort

_**A/N:**__ These next few chapters are going to be a little intense. I think I'm still within the "T" rating, but be warned that this chapter and the next few will contain more violence and angst than the rest of the story._

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* * *

_

_Last Chapter: _

Lord Voldemort had arrived.

* * *

**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Twelve: Lord Voldemort**

Hermione was helplessly, horribly transfixed. Harry's description – only one, a week after the Third Task – had not prepared her for this. Lord Voldemort's face was an exercise in extremes. She had thought Draco was pale - after seeing Voldemort's chalk-white skin, she could appreciate the pink and peachy undertones in Draco's skin. She had thought Trelawney's eyes were catlike – Voldemort's eyes were the exact shape as Crookshanks', and as red as fresh blood. He had no nose, only two slits like a snake's, and his mouth was lipless, thinner even than an angry McGonagall's.

The terror that gripped Hermione as she stared at Lord Voldemort was nothing compared to the horror that came when those blood-red eyes landed on her. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as her heart beat faster and her palms turned clammy. For an instant, she thought she was going to be sick. But Voldemort's eyes lingered on Hermione for only a moment, long enough to see that she was Disarmed and immobilized. Then his glance darted a few feet to the side.

"Draco."

His voice was high, higher than any man's Hermione had ever heard, but it was in no way feminine. Rather, it reminded her of ice, of the feeling of being held helpless by a Freezing Charm or the wash of terror when death, in the form of a Death Eater or a dragon or a werewolf, was staring you in the face. She could hear her pulse ringing in her ears.

"M-my lord," Draco gasped, collapsing to the floor as his knees gave way. He fell so suddenly that Hermione wasn't sure if Draco had intentionally knelt before Voldemort or if his knees were shaking so badly they could no longer support him. The surrounding Death Eaters stood almost completely still, so still that Hermione noticed a sudden small movement in her peripheral vision: Narcissa Malfoy had just grabbed Lucius's hand.

"Draco, you have failed me again," Voldemort continued. The terrifying thing about his voice, some small corner of Hermione's mind noted, was the completely calm, sensible way he spoke, as if his every word were a statement of unquestionable fact. "Such a simple task. Watching a weak, unarmed Mudblood girl. And yet you have failed at even that. It makes me reconsider…"

As Voldemort trailed off, there was again a sudden movement in Hermione's peripheral vision. She glanced away from Draco to see Lucius gripping Narcissa's arm, seemingly holding her back.

Hermione turned her attention back to Draco. He had been simply kneeling before, but at the last words he lunged forward, laying his whole body against the floor in an expression of extreme submission. He was trembling so badly that Hermione could see his shoulders and hands shaking from where she lay forgotten on the floor, a yard or so away.

"Please," Draco gasped. His voice was breathy and barely audible, as if his terror were making it difficult for him to speak. "Please," he said again, his voice louder and more tearful. "I'm sorry. Master. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Please."

Voldemort lifted his hand and let his wand slip so that the end was caught between two strangely long fingers. He began swinging it delicately, as a child might swing a string to taunt a pet cat. "But Draco, we have heard this all before. These pleas, these apologies. And still you fail at each progressively simpler task. I begin to doubt your usefulness." He raised his wand.

"NO!" It was a woman's voice that shouted, but when Hermione turned, she saw a man kneeling on the ground. It was Lucius Malfoy, and although his face was carefully impassive, his hands were trembling slightly. Narcissa was standing silently next to him, her eyes vacant.

"My Lord," Lucius began quietly. Instead of staring at the floor as Draco had done, he looked unflinchingly into the Dark Lord's face. "My Lord, Draco is foolish, yes. But he is young, and he is learning – slowly, yes, but he is learning. Let him continue to learn. I assure you, one day he will prove himself – not soon perhaps, but someday. My Lord, many of your most loyal servants were weak when they began their service. Please, Master, give Draco the chance to grow."

There was complete silent for a moment, broken only by Draco's frantic breathing, until suddenly the room was filled with Lord Voldemort's high laugh. Hermione felt chills run down her back at the sound, a sound she was sure would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life.

"Lucius, Lucius," Voldemort said, amused. "I am impressed at your speech – you have been practicing it, I see. And why not let Narcissa speak? It seems she has something to add."

Pink spots of color appeared in Lucius's sallow cheeks, and a second later Narcissa moved suddenly, as if startled out of a deep sleep. "My Lord," she said, sinking elegantly to her knees. "I agree with my husband. Please, spare Draco's life."

Despite all Narcissa's elegance, her voice broke on the last word, and Hermione involuntarily looked to Draco, who was still sniveling on the floor. She supposed she should have expected it, but it was a shock to learn that Draco's life was as much at risk as her own.

The moment that followed was heavy with tension as Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa waited to hear Voldemort's pronouncement.

"Very well," Voldemort said. "His life will be spared – for now. His punishment will be less…permanent."

"Thank you, my Lord," Lucius said, his voice saturated with gratitude and relief.

"Master," Narcissa murmured.

Draco remained supine on the ground, shaking. Voldemort swung his wand so that it was pointing at Draco, who tensed.

"_Crucio."_

The resulting screams made Hermione nauseous again. Watching someone else suffer under the Cruciatus Curse was almost as bad as suffering it herself. She had never heard someone scream like that, so desperately and helplessly. Draco seemed to have lost control of his body; he bucked and writhed and twisted in on himself as if possessed.

Voldemort seemed to hold the curse for hours, though in reality it could not have been more than a few minutes. Unable to watch Draco anymore, Hermione turned her attention to Lucius and Narcissa, who remained kneeling, staring at the ground. They were holding hands so tightly that their knuckles were white, but neither of them moved to help Draco.

Finally, it stopped. Draco lay, gasping and sobbing, on the floor for several minutes before he regained enough composure to speak.

"Thank you," he choked out, looking up reluctantly at Voldemort. "Thank you, Master."

Voldemort paid no attention to Draco but instead began striding toward the head of the table, where he sat down in the ornate leather armchair. "Rise," he said disinterestedly, and the Malfoys stood and joined the other Death Eaters taking their seats at the table. Lucius and Narcissa helped Draco stand, but with a nervous glance at Voldemort, Draco shook off their arms and stumbled to the very end of the table of his own accord. The Malfoys sat in a row, with Lucius first and Draco last, in the seat farthest from Voldemort except for Peter Pettigrew's seat, directly across from Draco. The Malfoys had their backs to Hermione, so she couldn't see their faces. However, she saw Narcissa grasp Draco's still-shaking hand briefly.

"There are a few changes to be made in seating tonight," Voldemort announced. All the Death Eaters stiffened, and Hermione saw Lucius grab Narcissa's hand again. "Rabastan, change places with Rodolphus." Hermione watched as the two brothers shifted seats: they were near the head of the table, preceded only by Bellatrix.

"Lucius," Voldemort said next, and Hermione saw all three Malfoys tense. "You very nearly lost the Mudblood," he continued silkily, swinging his wand like a pendulum. "You have failed me again, Lucius."

"My Lord," Lucius said, bowing his head so that his long hair brushed against the table. "I do not deny it." Out of Voldemort's sight, he gripped Narcissa's hand so hard that Hermione could see her fingers turn white.

Voldemort's lipless mouth twisted itself into what might have been a smile. "Good, Lucius," he said. "A faithful servant knows when to accept punishment." He pointed his wand at Lucius, who flinched but said nothing.

"And yet," Voldemort continued. Lucius glanced at him hopefully. "You are not the only one who failed me that night," Voldemort said. "Wormtail, Rabastan, Rodolphus, Jugson, Yaxley, Avery – even Severus was Stunned by Granger." Snape bowed his head from his place at Voldemort's right, concealing his face with his greasy hair.

"It would be impractical to punish all of you," Voldemort said. Hermione saw several of the Death Eaters' shoulders slump in relief. Snape's, however, did not. "Yet I will not forget this transgression," Voldemort continued.

"It will not happen again, my Lord," Snape murmured in his familiar oily voice. Hermione felt a surge of hatred at the sound.

"It will not," Voldemort agreed, his voice taking on a hard edge. "Has the Mudblood tried to escape again? Draco?"

Narcissa's reached out to touch Draco's hand.

"Y-yes, my Lord," Draco stammered. "Last night. I stopped her," he added quickly as Voldemort raised his wand again.

Voldemort laughed, and Hermione could see Draco's hand grip the side of his chair tightly.

"So your failure was not as great as it could have been," Voldemort said. "And yet, your family seems to have failed me a great deal lately."

"My Lord - " Bellatrix spoke up from her seat next to Voldemort, and Hermione remembered that she was Narcissa's sister, Draco's aunt.

"Bella," Voldemort said, still in the same silky voice. "Bella, you have failed me worse than the others."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix asked anxiously.

"It was because of you we are meeting today, instead of last week," Voldemort said. "Your loss of control almost cost me Granger - Potter's best friend, Bella. She would have proved to be a veritable mine of information – perhaps she still will; we will see the extent of your damage soon."

Hermione fought against a grin as she realized that it was Bellatrix who would be blamed for her missing memories. She saw Draco's shoulders lower as he exhaled in relief.

"Forgive me, my Lord." Bellatrix was very nearly in tears. "I – I got carried away. It will not happen again."

"Oh, but Bella, you say that every time," Voldemort continued, still in the same conversational tone. "Dedalus Diggle, Sturgis Podmore – this is not the first time this has happened."

"Forgive me!" Bellatrix said, beginning to sob. "Please, my Lord. I do not mean to disappoint you."

"Go sit next to Wormtail," Voldemort said coldly. Bellatrix looked up through tear-filled eyes to gaze beseechingly at him. "My Lord! I will not fail you again!"

"See that you do not," Voldemort said coldly. "Now go."

Still sobbing, Bellatrix rose from her chair and stumbled to the end of the table, where Pettigrew sat. She conjured a chair out of the air and made to set it at Pettigrew's left, so that she would be closer to the head of the table.

"The other side, Bellatrix," Voldemort said.

Bellatrix paled, but obediently moved her chair to the very end of the table and sat down. Now she was even farther from Voldemort than Draco. Bellatrix lay her head down on the table and collapsed into noisy sobs.

"Now," Voldemort said, speaking loudly to be heard over Bellatrix. "We see to the prisoners."


	13. What It Means To Be A Gryffindor

_Last Chapter:_

"Now," Voldemort said, speaking loudly to be heard over Bellatrix. "We see to the prisoners."

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Thirteen: What It Means To Be a Gryffindor**

Voldemort looked around the room. As those horrible red eyes landed on her, Hermione suddenly became aware that she was the only one watching him: the Death Eaters were all looking at her, and the other prisoners were staring determinedly at the floor.

Part of Hermione wanted desperately to look away and join Susan and Mundungus in staring at the ground, but another, more determined, part – her reckless, foolhardy Gryffindor side – kept her staring, meeting Lord Voldemort's eyes in an attempt at bravery, though her knees were wobbling in spite of the Leg-Locker Curse.

He laughed. "Hermione Granger," he said, and in his voice her name sounded like a taunt, a terrible mockery.

Hermione knew how she was supposed to react: either quake in fear and turn her eyes away, or behave like Harry and have some sarcastic retort ready to shout back at him. She wanted to act like Harry, she really did, but all her wits seemed to have deserted her and she couldn't think of anything to say. She was no good in a crisis, she never had been – in her head she seemed to hear her own voice and Ron's: _"But there's no wood!" "HAVE YOU GONE MAD? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"_

The corners of her mouth turned up involuntarily at the memory – either thinking of Ron had comforted her, or she had suddenly grown up enough to laugh at herself, or else (most likely) she was hysterical. For whatever reason, without meaning to, she smiled. But for only an instant, because at the smile Voldemort's blood red eyes seem to darken and his featureless face twisted in what seemed to be an expression of anger. As he stalked closer to her, Hermione realized that her smile had infuriated Voldemort even more than a sarcastic rejoinder would have: she wasn't taking him seriously.

She didn't know whether to be glad or terrified that she'd angered him: somehow, strangely, she thought she was both.

Voldemort was drawing nearer, moving past the dumbfounded Death Eaters without glancing at them. He walked unhurriedly, but all too soon Lord Voldemort was standing in front of Hermione, his entire concentration focused on her.

Lord Voldemort was not a tall man: as he stood before her, Hermione could tell that although he must be taller than Harry, he was several inches shorter than Ron. _Like Napoleon, _she thought randomly, and couldn't stop the giggle that escaped at the image of Voldemort dressed in a full Napoleonic officer's uniform, complete with high-heeled shoes. Why was she being so stupid? _You're hysterical, _her logical side informed herself, but knowing that didn't make her stop giggling.

"You dare to laugh at Lord Voldemort," Voldemort hissed dangerously. _He refers to himself in the third person? _Hermione thought incredulously, and giggled some more.

"Yes," she gasped, affecting an impertinence that she hoped would make Harry proud.

Voldemort drew his wand and held it lazily in his long, white fingers. "_Crucio."_

And the spell hit and she was screaming and it was even worse than she remembered, _oh God oh Merlin it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt –_

And then it stopped. She was lying curled around herself on the ground, sobbing with pain and fear. Sometime unnoticed, either at the moment of or sometime during the casting of the Cruciatus, Voldemort had released her from the Leg-Locker Curse and the silver ropes. He seemed to be expecting something of her.

Hermione pushed herself up, trembling, and stood. She had to lean against the wall to stay upright but at least she was standing, not cowering on the ground like a Death Eater.

Voldemort reached out one long white finger and brushed her cheek. Her skin burned where he touched her – she wasn't sure if she was imagining it or if it was some awful side effect of whatever Dark Magic he had used to make himself like this.

"Tears?" Voldemort asked, and the room hummed with Death Eater laughter. "Not very brave, are you? Pity – I had expected more, from a friend of Potter's. Still, I shouldn't be surprised – you are a Mudblood, after all."

Hermione flushed, but she kept standing, looking Voldemort in the eye. "Like you'd know anything about bravery," she said – her voice was shaking, but she said it.

Voldemort's face twisted in what Hermione thought might be anger, but then he laughed again. Hermione felt chills go down her spine at the sound. A few Death Eaters joined in nervously, and the room seemed to echo with forced laughter.

"_There's_ the Gryffindor," Voldemort said, then brought his wand down suddenly: Hermione was slammed forcefully against the wall. She crumpled to the ground, her ears ringing.

"But I will see to you later," he said coldly, turning his glance to another of the prisoners. Hermione caught her breath, expecting see Susan snuffed out in a flash of green light, but it was the unconscious wizard who was levitated out of the corner and moved to the center of the long table, where he rotated slowly. His head and limbs hung limply, making Hermione wonder if he was not unconscious, but dead. Voldemort paced around the room, studying the rotating wizard from all angles.

"_Enervate,"_ Voldemort said. The wizard's eyes slowly opened and he raised his head. When he saw where he was, he screamed and tried to run, but the spell kept him suspended in the air and all he could do was flail uselessly. The room filled with a hum of quiet laughter, punctuated by Bellatrix. She had a loud, unrestricted laugh that Hermione was disturbed to find reminded her of Sirius's.

"Who is this?" Voldemort asked, staring down the table.

"Malcolm MacDougal, my Lord," said a man Hermione recognized as Walden Macnair, who had been sent to kill Buckbeak what seemed like a lifetime ago. "He's an Auror – used to work closely with Scrimgeour. He's a half-blood."

"I see," Voldemort said, flicking his wand to bring the man closer. "Do you have anything to tell us, Malcolm MacDougal?" MacDougal tried to shoot backwards, but could only tilt his head as Voldemort pulled him closer and closer.

Closer to Voldemort, MacDougal was now closer to the firelight and Hermione could see his curly dark hair, pale skin, and wide brown eyes. He looked oddly familiar…

As MacDougal rotated so that he was facing her, Hermione finally placed him. He was Morag MacDougal's father. Morag was a pretty seventh-year Ravenclaw who had been in Hermione's Muggle Studies class in their third year. She had her father's eyes and hair, and, Hermione noticed as MacDougal began to speak, his thick Scottish accent.

"I haven't done anything!" MacDougal said frantically, flailing as if trying to propel himself away from the Dark Lord. "I don't know why you brought me here!"

"My Lord, he has been helping Mudbloods escape from the Ministry," Macnair said hurriedly. "Seventeen have escaped from the holding rooms where they are kept after the trials."

Voldemort raised his wand and pulled MacDougal even closer to him. "It wasn't me!" MacDougal screamed. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me – it was Shacklebolt! Kingsley Shacklebolt!"

"Shacklebolt has gone into hiding, idiot, he hasn't been seen since the Weasley wedding," Nott Sr. said angrily.

"It's him!" MacDougal shouted. "It's him, it's him, I swear it! He's been using – he's been using an Invisibility Cloak!"

Voldemort laughed; the room fell silent so that that was the only sound. MacDougal paled so that his skin was almost as white as Voldemort's own.

"The Dark Lord knows when you are lying," Voldemort said quietly. ("Always," Bellatrix murmured sycophantically in the background. "The Dark Lord always knows.")

Without warning, Voldemort flicked his wand, muttering, _"Crucio."_ MacDougal screamed and twitched in the air in some hideous parody of a dance.

After MacDougal had screamed himself hoarse, Voldemort stood and hovered MacDougal away from the table so that the two were eye level. The Dark Lord stared at the Auror with such intense concentration that Hermione knew he must be performing Legilimency. Finally, MacDougal gasped and hung his head, and with a flash of green light, he was dead. His body hit the floor with a heavy thump.

The other man, an Unspeakable named Croaker, followed MacDougal. Croaker seemed to have at least an adequate grasp of Occlumency; Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on him twice more after he made eye contact. Finally, Croaker must have broken, for he too was obliterated in a flash of green.

Next was Mundungus. He had hardly been Levitated over the table before he began shouting, "I'll tell you! I'll tell you anything you want to know! I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix and I've seen Potter! He was at the headquarters – I can't tell you where, I'm not the Secret Keeper, but I would if I could - my Lord - "

Voldemort smiled slightly at the title, but several of the Death Eaters looked sullen, and Bellatrix seemed infuriated. She had already gotten out of her seat and was in the process of drawing her wand when her husband managed to catch her eye and shake his head sharply, at which Bellatrix sat down, though she looked, if possible, even more incensed.

For her part, Hermione could have killed Mundungus on the spot. She had never liked him, with his bad hygiene and slightly illegal ways of making money, but she had trusted him! And so had the Order: he had been one of the six people to fly Harry to the Burrow. He knew things – he knew who was in the Order, he knew where Harry lived, he knew where the Order lived, and their sympathizers – things that Hermione had conveniently forgotten, but she knew that she must have known them, once.

"When did you see Potter?" Voldemort said.

"Months ago, it must have been in early August – Potter was with Granger and Weasley, they were looking for a locket, a locket that belonged to the Blacks – it was a big silver thing, had an S on it. I'd sold it to Umbridge and they were going to get it back."

Hermione started. She had no memory of what Mundungus had described, but it seemed somehow inexplicably right, as if the knowledge went deeper than memory to her very marrow.

"What did you say?" Voldemort said. His voice was deathly cold.

"A locket!" Mundungus said eagerly. "Big, gaudy silver thing. My Lord," he added hopefully.

"Yaxley," Voldemort said, still looking at Mundungus. "Go to the Ministry and see if Umbridge still has this locket. If she does, bring it to me."

"Yes, my Lord," Yaxley said. He didn't move.

"Now!" Voldemort said. The large blond Death Eater stood up and almost ran out of the room.

"Wormtail, take this one back to the cellar. I will deal with him later."

Pettigrew, having learned from Yaxley's mistake, immediately stood up and propelled Mundungus out of the room. As the door closed behind him, Voldemort turned to face the remaining two prisoners: Susan and Hermione. Two men lay dead on the floor not ten feet from them; another had just been taken away to await further interrogation. Whatever future the girls had in store for them, it was not good.

Voldemort flicked his wand, and Susan rose into the air.

"Do you recognize the girl, Severus?" Voldemort said, lazily twirling his wand so that Susan revolved slowly over the table. "And you, Draco?"

"Susan Bones. A seventh-year Hufflepuff," Snape said.

Draco nodded. "She's a pureblood," he said.

"No, not a pureblood," Voldemort said. "A blood traitor. A Bones – niece of the Boneses you killed, Dolohov." Susan gasped and tried to glare, but her eyes were coated in tears that threatened to spill over. "As well as Madam Bones, who was yours, Rodolphus and Rabastan. Her own parents have been trying to rally a force against me. And Susan was a member of Dumbledore's Army. Alecto and Amycus have assured me that she has taken the same path as the rest of her family.

"Susan," Voldemort continued, turning to face the revolving girl. "We do not like to kill blood traitors if it can be avoided – there is still the chance you can redeem yourself. And your family is one of the oldest. If you tell me where your parents are, you will live."

"I don't know," Susan said at once. Her voice barely shook – she sounded almost angry. "And if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"I see," Voldemort said slowly. "Well then, dear girl, you will be killed. Though not by me, I'm afraid – you aren't nearly important enough for that. Perhaps Draco can practice his Killing Curse? Have you improved at all, Draco?" Voldemort's voice was harsh at the end, almost threatening.

"I – I can't," Draco said in a high, shaky voice. "I know her."

"And so you cannot kill her," Voldemort finished. "Dear, dear Draco – you are quite the disappointment."

"I'm sorry," Draco said miserably, glancing down at the table. Narcissa was gripping his hand tightly.

Hermione glanced up at Susan. Her eyes were screwed shut and she looked terrified. _Just get it over with, _Hermione was sure she was thinking.

"Prove yourself, Draco," Voldemort said. "Kill her."

At a nod from his father, Draco stood, raised his wand, and pointed it at Susan. At that moment, she turned toward him, her face a mess of tears and bruises.

Draco lowered his wand. "I can't!" he said, panicked. "I know her! She was my partner in Transfiguration last year! She's a _pureblood!"_

"She is a _blood traitor,_" Voldemort corrected. His eyes seemed to flash dangerously. "Her blood is not of the same class as yours or mine, Draco."

"You're only a half-blood yourself!" Hermione heard herself shout. "Your father was a Muggle and your mother was a Squib!"

"You lie," Voldemort said, turning his wand on her. Susan landed on the table with a yelp.

"Your name is Tom Marvolo Riddle!" Hermione continued. She couldn't stop even if she wanted: her anger had proved greater than her sense of self-preservation. Maybe this was what it meant to be a Gryffindor. "Your father was Tom Riddle and your mother was Merope Gaunt!"

The room fell silent as Voldemort rose from his chair. "Kill the girl, Lucius," Voldemort said, still looking at Hermione. "Let's see how much the Mudblood knows."

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Please review!


	14. Red and Green

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Last chapter, "Prisoners and Captives" hit the 100-review mark! This is my first fanfic to get 100 reviews, so I was very, very, very excited about that. Thank you to everybody out there who's read, reviewed, favorited, and/or alerted – you all are amazing, wonderful people and I love you all very much. :D

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_Last Chapter:_

"Kill the girl, Lucius, and change places with Draco," Voldemort said, still looking at Hermione. "Let's see how much the Mudblood knows."

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Fourteen: Red and Green**

"No!" Hermione shouted, turning away from Voldemort to stare at Susan, who lay crumpled on the table. There was a flash of green light and she went still. Hermione thought she heard Draco whimper; Susan's body lay not three inches from him. Hermione couldn't concentrate on Draco now, though; Voldemort was standing only inches from her. She turned back to face him, praying for some more unplanned Gryffindor bravery to take hold of her.

Without meaning to, she met his eyes. Voldemort didn't have to speak a word; she didn't know quite what made it begin, but suddenly Hermione was drowning in pools of blood while her memories passed quickly through her mind. Fighting the troll with Ron and Harry. Figuring out Snape's logic problem. Accidentally turning herself into a cat. Seeing the basilisk. Meeting Sirius. Harry telling her about the Third Task. Forming Dumbledore's Army.

She had to stop him, she had to...frantically, she tried to remember what she learned from those Occlumency books, but the memories running through her head made it impossible to concentrate on anything else. The Department of Mysteries. Fighting Death Eaters near the Room of Requirement. Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Voldemort hissed wordlessly, or maybe it was Nagini. There was something about that snake, something she had forgotten…The memories were rushing faster and faster, at a dizzying pace. It was as if her mind were a book and he was scanning the pages. Random memories caught at her consciousness, useless, pointless memories, like a snowball fight in fourth year and kissing Cormac at Slughorn's party.

Finally he stopped. Lightheaded, Hermione fell to the ground. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and cradled her pounding head in her hands.

"The girl is useless," Voldemort said. "Draco – what do you know of this?"

"Her memories were missing when she woke up!" Draco said. "It wasn't me, it must have been all those Cruciatuses!"

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said.

"I did nothing!" Bellatrix screamed.

"Did you?" Voldemort asked scathingly. "And yet," he said slowly, "her thoughts are clear, her memories distinct. She has not lost her mind – she has been Obliviated."

Bellatrix seemed to slump in relief. Snape was staring at Hermione.

"Memory Charms can be broken, master," Bellatrix said slavishly. "Let me do it!"

"Bellatrix, you cannot believe I will grant you such a privilege after you so failed me the last time?" Voldemort said, laughing a little. "No. I will do it myself."

And, before she could do anything to prepare herself, Hermione was hit with the Cruciatus Curse again and she was screaming and writhing and they were laughing and _it hurt it hurt it hurt and it wasn't stopping why wouldn't it stop – _

And then it did. Voldemort bent over her and took her face between his hands. He looked almost excited.

"Come back, Potter," he whispered. "I have her. Your friend. Hermione Granger."

For an instant his eyes seemed to flash green, and then she couldn't see anything because her eyes were screwed shut because he was Cruciating her again and_ it hurt it hurt it hurt and Harry was watching and he would be seeing it as if he were doing it she had to stop it had to tell him._

"Harry!" she screamed when it finally stopped. "Don't come, Harry! You promised!" She had no idea what promise she was talking about; she spoke the words with no thought, simply blurted them out.

"Come, Potter," Voldemort said. "Come, or I will kill her. You have three days."

And he was cursing her again and again and again _and it hurt so much she just wanted it to stop and oh poor Harry she had to black out soon, for Harry not just for herself –_

And then she did.

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This time, Hermione did not wake slowly and confusedly to be watched over by a blurred stranger, but suddenly and lucidly to see a sallow face framed in oily hair, less than three inches from her.

She gasped and pushed herself away, knocking her head against the headboard in the process. Her vision swam and she moaned involuntarily, suddenly becoming aware of how much she ached. She was alert enough though to realize that although her body was weak and shaking, her mind was perfectly normal – she had recognized Professor Snape, Draco standing behind him, and her familiar surroundings almost immediately, and she could remember what happened perfectly, though she almost wished she couldn't.

"Drink." Snape handed her a phial of the familiar green potion, and Hermione obeyed wordlessly, her mind working all the while. She had to have been Ennervated to have woken so suddenly, and Snape wouldn't have Ennervated her in her condition unless…

"Is this the third day?" Hermione asked, and was surprised to hear how steady her voice sounded.

Snape nodded curtly. "You have about four hours. Draco, the stethoscope."

Hermione scarcely noticed what Snape was doing during the now-familiar physical, and she barely blinked when he searched his robe pockets, found nothing, and swore.

"Draco, go to my lab – the one here – and fetch some Pepper-Up Potion."

"Yes sir," Draco said hurriedly, and left the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Snape looked at Hermione. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"Harry hasn't tried to come, has he?" Hermione asked anxiously.

Snape shook his head. "He has not."

"This is going to kill him," Hermione thought, and was surprised to hear herself say it aloud.

"That would save us a great deal of trouble," Snape said in his usual sardonic tone, and the familiarity of it, the thought of brewing potions and a seething Ron and a smug Pansy Parkinson, almost made her laugh.

"I never thought you were really a Death Eater," Hermione said, surprising herself. "Not after first year. Dumbledore trusted you, and I trusted him. You were the last teacher I'd have expected to turn out to be working for You-Know-Who. Well, besides Professor McGonagall."

"Indeed," Snape said levelly, but there was some unreadable expression on his face.

Hermione looked at him steadily, expecting to hear some scathing remark, but nothing came. Snape simply looked at her until the bedroom door swung open a few seconds later and Draco appeared, red-faced and panting, holding out a phial of Pepper-Up Potion.

He handed it to Snape, who handed it to Hermione, who drank it, thinking absently, _This is the last thing I will ever drink._

"I will return in three hours, Miss Granger," Snape said once she had handed the phial back to him. "Would you like a Sleeping Potion?"

"No – no, I think I'd rather be awake," Hermione said, her voice shaking for the first time. Her thoughts swam with Muggle ideas – last rites and deathbed confessions – but she would get none of that here. Still, she'd rather her last waking hours be spent playing Gobstones with Draco than watching a Death Eater meeting.

Snape nodded once, then turned and left the room. There was an eerie silence for a moment, and then Draco spoke.

"Granger." Draco's voice was breathless and tinged with a strange urgency. Hermione looked at him. His eyes were bright and his face was flushed, and he had one hand plunged into his robe pocket.

"I'm going to tell you something," he said, "but first you have to swear that you'll Obliviate me afterwards."

"I don't have my wand," was all Hermione could think to say.

"But I do," Draco said, and removed his hand from his robes. He was holding her wand – her ten and three-quarters inches vine wood wand with a dragon heartstring core.

"How did you - ?"

"You have to swear," Draco said feverishly. "Before I tell you anything, you have to promise you'll Obliviate me afterwards."

"I promise," Hermione said. Something like hope was growing inside her and she was sure her eyes were as bright as Draco's.

Draco handed her the wand. "I'm going to get you out of here," he said.

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_Review? :D_


	15. The Other Hermione

**A/N: **_Er…hi. I feel really bad about this, and I apologize, but you know that really long wait between the last update and this one? Yeah, I don't think it's going to get shorter any time soon. When I began this story, I overestimated the time I'd have for writing, and some things have come up in my life recently that have severely limited my free time. Added to that, I made some major changes to my outline a while back and I'm still trying to make everything work, plot-wise. I've learned my lesson from this story: I'm never again going to start posting while I'm still writing! But I'm not going on hiatus - I'm still going to keep writing and posting when I can. I promise that I will not abandon "Prisoners and Captives." It's just going to take me a little longer to finish than I anticipated._

_Again, I'm really sorry about all this, and I want to thank everybody who's been reading and reviewing. I've been thrilled with the response to this story and I'm really disappointed in myself that I haven't been quicker with updates. If you want to rant at me or anything, feel free to send me a PM._

_And now, on to Chapter Fifteen._

_

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Last chapter:_

Draco handed her the wand. "I'm going to get you out of here," he said.

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**Prisoners and Captives**

**Part One: Malfoy Manor**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Other Hermione**

"What?" Hermione said. She couldn't have heard him right, she couldn't have.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Draco repeated.

Hermione ran her fingers up and down her wand. She had thought she'd never see it again. "How?" she asked.

Draco hesitated. "You've promised to Obliviate me after," he said.

"Yes," Hermione said impatiently. "Now how am I going to escape?"

Draco reached back into his robes and drew out a phial of a familiar thick brown liquid.

"Polyjuice Potion," they said together.

"Where did you - " Hermione started to ask, but Draco interrupted her.

"Snape's laboratory. He had a cauldron simmering, it looked like it'd just been finished."

"So," Hermione said slowly. "I'm going to be you, to get through the gate."

"Yes," Draco said. "You'll take it here, Disillusion yourself, unlock the door, and get out through a window on the first floor – the door's charmed to ring whenever someone leaves. You'll walk through the gate – just hold your arm up – and then Disapparate when you're out. Go to Hogwarts, there's Order members there and they'll know where to hide you. Don't Apparate into Hogsmeade, though, there's a Caterwauling Charm."

Hermione considered. The plan seemed likely to work – more likely than any of her other escape attempts, at least, and at this point she had nothing to lose – but something was bothering her.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I'll take Polyjuice to turn into you," Draco said, "and then you'll Obliviate and Stun me. That way it'll be at least an hour before anyone realizes you're gone."

"But what will they do when they do realize?" Hermione asked, horrified.

Draco glanced at the floor, then back at her. His mouth was set in determination. "He won't kill me," he said. "At least for a while – he's looking for something now, he's to hold a full Death Eater meeting. If he's going to kill me, he's going to make an example. Besides, Snape will step in for me if it comes to that. He would have at the meeting if my father hadn't first."

"But even if he doesn't kill you, he'll torture you," Hermione said.

"He's going to torture me anyway!" Draco exploded. "Haven't you – you've seen what it's like! I'm going to get tortured either way, and at least this way maybe – maybe Potter will kill him and it will stop!"

"Is that why you're doing this?" Hermione asked quickly. "Because you want us to win?"

"Yes – no – I don't know!" Draco said, smoothing his hair distractedly. He paused. "Think of it as insurance," he said, calmer. "Whichever side wins, I'm on that side."

"No," Hermione said. "Whichever side wins, you're on the other side."

Draco flushed and looked away. So he knew what he was doing.

"Why are you really doing this?" Hermione said.

"Why does it matter?" Draco almost shouted. "Don't you want to get out of here?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione said. "But I need to know that I can trust you. Why are you really doing this?"

"Because – because I don't want to see you die!" Draco said. His face was very pink.

"Why?" Hermione challenged.

"Because I _know_ you," Draco said. "I don't like you, Granger – Merlin knows! – but I _know _you. I've known you since you were a bossy little first-year with giant teeth and frizzy hair. I don't want to see you die. Especially not this way."

"What do you mean?"

"He's going to torture you until your memory breaks before he kills you," Draco said bluntly. He brandished the Polyjuice Potion. "Now are you going to take it or not?"

And without thinking about it, without realizing she was doing it, Hermione burst into tears and launched herself into Draco's arms. He patted her back awkwardly as she sobbed. "Thank - you – thank - you," Hermione gasped.

"Hermione," Draco said, and surprised that he'd used her first name, Hermione stopped crying abruptly and looked up. Draco had the strangest expression on his face. His arms tightened around her.

And then he kissed her.

Hermione almost pulled away in surprise, and though a part of her knew that she should break the kiss, a bigger part was overcome by the surprise and the strangeness and the urgency of the situation, of the kiss, and she was kissing Draco back more fiercely than she'd ever kissed anyone before, it was like how she and Viktor had kissed after the Second Task but _more_, and for an instant – longer than an instant - she forgot all about Ron and Harry and dying and she, Hermione Granger, kissed Draco Malfoy back.

Eventually they had to break apart, and when they did everything came rushing back. A thousand thoughts seemed to hit Hermione instantaneously: What was she doing wasting time like this? What was she doing _kissing DRACO MALFOY? _What was _Ron _going to do when he heard about this? What on earth had just happened? And oh – she was going to Obliviate him – he was going to forget it – she would be the only one who had this memory! Had he known that when he kissed her, had he planned it? She almost hated him for doing this to her.

"We'd better take the Polyjuice now," Draco said. He was pink-faced but looked her in the eyes, not at the ground.

"Yeah," Hermione said shakily. "We should switch clothes. I'll go in the bathroom, we'll pass them through the door."

"I'm not going to wear a dress!" Draco said indignantly. "You can change – I'll wait until after I've taken it."

"You're not looking at me naked!" Hermione said.

Draco laughed humorlessly. "Granger - " he started, but stopped. "I'll keep a shirt on, then," he amended.

Hermione nodded. "Okay. Let's do it."

Behind the bathroom door, Hermione took off her chemise and let it fall to the floor. She had never been more aware of her own body. Draco was going to see this, was going to be wearing it – her short legs, the birthmark on her hip, the scar on her torso from Dolohov's curse. It was strange, she thought, almost laughing, that the first time a boy would see her nearly naked would be because he had Polyjuiced himself into her body.

A hand appeared through the crack in the door, holding a pile of black clothes. Hermione took the bundle and began pulling on Draco's clothes: the trousers, the collared shirt, the long black robes, the socks, the dragonhide boots. She glanced in the mirror. The clothes were much too big; Draco's sleeves obscured her hands and his pants pooled on the floor.

"Ready?" Draco asked through the door.

"Ready," Hermione said, her voice steady. She opened the door, bringing her discarded clothes with her.

Draco stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers and a thin white T-shirt. Hermione did her best to look at his face, but she couldn't help the blush that appeared in her cheeks. Draco went pink too, but he handed her a tumbler full of Polyjuice Potion as if they were both dressed in their school robes.

"I conjured them while you were changing," Draco said in response to Hermione's raised eyebrows as she took the tumbler and handed Draco her bundle of clothes. He set them on the edge of the bed.

"All right," Hermione said in a voice full of false confidence. "Let's get to it, then." She reached up and plucked a hair from her head. Draco did the same as she dropped her hair into his glass, instantly turning it into a rich brown.

Draco dropped his hair into her tumbler. The potion frothed and turned a pale green.

They looked at each other, their faces no longer pink but pale with anxiety.

"Well," Hermione said.

"Well," said Draco. "Cheers." He lifted his glass and drank.

Hermione drank too. Her eyes streamed at the taste – it wasn't bad, exactly, but very strong, like the extra-strength mouthwash her parents had insisted she use for as long as she could remember.

There was the somehow familiar - but how could it be familiar when she'd never done it before, when the Polyjuice she'd taken second year hadn't molded her into somebody new, just made her grow fur and a tail and cat ears? – painful stretching as her legs shot up, her shoulders expanded, her hair grew into her head, her chin reshaped itself. When it was finished, she straightened and saw herself standing there in black boxers and a white T-shirt, staring back at her.

"This is really strange," the other Hermione said. Was her voice really that high?

"You'd better get dressed," Hermione said in a voice that was not her own. It was surprisingly calm, though, despite her (Draco's?) elevated heart rate and sweaty palms.

The other Hermione pulled on the chemise. "Pull your hair out of the collar," Hermione said, and the other Hermione obeyed.

They stared at each other. This was, without a doubt, the strangest thing she had ever done.

"Do it," said the other Hermione, in a tone she recognized – false bravery. "Do it now."

Hermione raised her wand, pointed it between the other Hermione's eyes, and said, _"Obliviate."_

As the other Hermione's eyes went vacant, Hermione knew, she somehow knew – it went beyond déjà vu, it went beyond instinct, she had never been surer of anything in her life – that she was the one who had modified her memory.

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_Please review!_


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